


lucky strike

by noturno



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - All For The Game Fusion, Alternate Universe - Exy (All For The Game), Background Relationships, Developing Relationship, Families of Choice, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mark Lee (NCT)-centric, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of heterosexuality, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Relationships, Rivalry, Slow Burn, Trans Huang Ren Jun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25121983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noturno/pseuds/noturno
Summary: Mark turns his head to the side and watches his Foxes inside the court, running laps, chatting, complaining. It's a familiar sight at the same time that it isn't — he feels as if he's seeing them for the first time, just under a different light.They are so fucked up, he thinks, each of them worse than the other, but they are his and he is theirs. That's something. Whenever Mark looks at them, he feels the jagged parts of himself get rounder at the edges.(The one in which Mark is the newest addition to a broken team, Jaemin is a keeper in more ways than one, and it might take some work for the Palmetto State Foxes to start looking like home, but they're not ones to give up anyway.)
Relationships: Mark Lee/Na Jaemin
Comments: 17
Kudos: 63





	lucky strike

**Author's Note:**

> "the jaeminyardism of exy au was the mother i never had" — ao3 diurno.
> 
> [black lives matter. here's how to support them.](https://moreblminfo.carrd.co/)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which fights are fought, bets are made, and friendships bloom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> / screams into my hands / oh boy here we go!
> 
> here's to mari who kept talking to me about this on discord until ungodly hours for, let's see, the whole time i was writing this. you're the only foxes fan in this city who can handle me. as for the rest of you, i hope you'll enjoy this first installment as much as i liked writing it!
> 
> here is a shamelessly long [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7JOtHyqbZYFxprRvlbttRT?si=V21JPHF8Q0uk7WRqX9rpAA)

_So I follow you down your twisting alleyways_

_Find a few cul-de-sacs of my own_

_There's only one place this road ever ends up_

_And I don't want to die alone._

( **The Mountain Goats** , "Dance Music")

  


_'Cause I am done with my graceless heart_

_So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart_

_'Cause I like to keep my issues strong_

_It's always darkest before the dawn._

( **Florence + The Machine** , "Shake It Out")

🦊

"Some guy came looking for you last week. I didn't tell him when you'd be discharged, though, but he might show up again."

Mark takes another bite of his double cheeseburger and looks up from his morning reading — it's far too early to be eating junk food, admittedly, but he's missed this like a lung. Mina didn't object when the first thing he said after slipping into the passenger seat was _take me to the nearest McDonald's_ , and she even brought the newspaper for him. 

"My dad?" he asks, staged calmness in his voice, but just the thought of it makes his stomach turn upside down. He struggles to swallow as Mina shoves a handful of fries inside her mouth and replies: 

"Nah. Doyoung Kim, you know, that coach from Palmetto State University?"

"I know who he is," Mark turns another page on the newspaper. He's never been one to read the news, but six months away from the rest of the world granted him a few new hobbies. It was either pick up reading, painting coloring books or playing badminton, but he's not fucking forty years old, thank you, so here he is. "What did he want?"

The answer is obvious, so that's why Mina doesn't bother replying. They're quite similar in that sense, hence why she's Mark's only friend — both of them are not fans of unnecessary chit chat. And even if Mina was talkative, there would be no need. Everyone knows that there is only one requirement to be scouted for the worst team in the country, and Mark dips the last bite of his cheeseburger on the ketchup holder and pops it inside his mouth, looking out of the window as he chews.

"Does _everybody_ know?" he mutters, observing the cars and buses and trucks riding down the highway. They still got a whole hour to get to the city — Mark's always hated Tucson for its unbearable heat and equally sunny people, but he's learned to miss the way the sun would filter through his dorm's curtains when he was away.

Mina drums her fingers on the tabletop. They're similar, but she's always been more careful than him — more caring, too, which is why she extends a hand to gently rub a thumb over his wrist before pulling away, knowing her luck. "Word got around," she replies softly, which means that it was all over the news for at least a month, Mark thinks. He presses the back of his hand to his eyes and sighs. 

"I want to go—" Mark stops himself short, which earns him a worried look. He doesn't even _have_ a home to go back to. He's gotten an email from his university somewhere in, what, March?, about cutting off his scholarship. He sighs. "Can I crash at yours, just for tonight? I said I'd get my stuff tomorrow."

"Of course," Mina scoffs, crossing her arms and leaning back on the chair with a playful grin. "Think I'd ever leave you to your mercy?"

Mark shrugs. He turns to the window once and watches as an obscenely orange truck rides past McDonald's at high speed, making him chuckle — Palmetto State… What even. He gathers the trash, grabs his tray and gets up.

🦊

Tucson has never been ideal, but it was better than Sacramento, which wasn't exactly better than Santa Fe, but it's not like Mark is crazy about every city he moves to. All of them, though, were better than New York — he very grumpily shoves a baseball cap that his dad gave him the last time they talked inside the trash bin in his old dorm room. His former roommate, Hyunjin, looks at him with pity in his big eyes.

"I'm sorry you have to go," he says. "I tried to talk to them, seriously. I had the whole team go talk to the school board, but..."

Mark waves it off, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder. He checks for any lost socks under the bed or papers fallen on the back of the desk, but it's a childish move anyway — if he leaves anything behind, Hyunjin will surely ship it to him, anywhere he is. But Mark holds onto the few minutes that he has until it becomes ridiculous as he has to leave at some point, looking up at his empty wall, his empty dresser, and then back at Hyunjin.

"Where are you going now?" he asks, because Mark is clearly not going to say goodbye. "I'm sure— I'm sure you can go anywhere you want, Mark."

"I don't know yet, but I'll let you know when I do," he replies at last, which surprises both of them. He swings back and forth on his heels awkwardly, taking one last look at the room just so he doesn't have to look at Hyunjin's face. "Don't let Jungeun be too mean with you when I'm not around. You just have to improve your offense plays and she'll be off your hair, she wants what is best for you."

Of course, that's goodbye. Hyunjin flashes him a sweet smile and accompanies him to the dorm, but Mark walks down the corridor of block 3 completely alone, as he did when he enrolled, his spare Exy rackets knocking against each other on his back. He lets out a sigh, extending a hand to keep the elevator doors open so he can get inside, promptly ignoring a pair of freshmen who back up against the mirror in order not to be hit by his baggage. 

Saying goodbye to college is fine. Mark has dropped out and been expelled from many schools before, he's not sad to leave. Really, not in the slightest, as he's never been one to be crazy about studying. But he catches a glimpse of his reflection on the metal doors, the rackets on his back, the colors of his former team on his duffel bag— 

The doors open, and he steps out decidedly into the hall. One of the freshmen is not careful enough and slips a "Is he that one dude… ?" that doesn't go unnoticed, and Mark turns his head to them only to glare. Their friend starts hitting a random button desperately, and he turns around to leave. 

Unfortunately, his partial indifference to leaving the place doesn't grant him the privilege of not walking a little slower as he leaves his dorm building. None of his fellow teammates are around, thankfully, because he doesn't think he'd handle Kevin's reaction. Mark sighs as he steps into the scorching sun, grumpily kicking pebbles in his way as he heads to the parking lot, where Mina awaits in her Honda Accord.

"Hey, you."

Mark kicks another pebble, not turning around. The stranger calls for him again and he ignores them once more, not really not in the mood to offer directions to freshmen when he's leaving the university. Then, he feels it when the stranger hooks a finger on his bag's strap and pulls with a little too much force, and turns around ready to hit them with a racket if they try to steal his bag. Wouldn't be the first time for both of those things.

"What, too good for me, pretty?" the stranger asks, scoffing. Mark frowns, adjusting the strap of his bag. He's weirdly familiar, but he can't quite put his finger on it. "I just wanted to talk."

"The fuck is your problem?" he asks, raising his chin in defiance. "The admission hall is over there, I got no time for freshman bullshit."

The stranger raises his eyebrows, a playful grin on his lips as he tugs at the strings of Mark's racket. He pulls away, bothered, but the stranger tugs on it harder. Suddenly, Mark realizes why that mop of blue hair and big eyes are so familiar. He forcefully pulls his racket away from Jaemin Na's prying fingers. 

"What are you doing here?" Mark asks. It's completely nonsense that the goalkeeper for the Palmetto State Foxes is hanging out in Arizona, and when Jaemin takes a step forward, challenging, Mark doesn't back off. He's heard it before that Jaemin is all bark and all bite as well, but he's not going to give him that satisfaction. "I didn't know they allowed you to leave your foxhole on your own."

"Not alone, no," Jaemin replies. He's got a sickenly sweet smile, one that he's famous for alongside the, well, many other things. "Congratulations for getting out of rehab, though. Now that you're an oficial ex-junkie, you can _finally_ hang out with us!"

Mark doesn't mind the tease — as soon as the words "not alone" come out of Jaemin's mouth, he takes a large step back, eyes scanning the surroundings. As if staged beforehand, he watches as an older man gets out of his car, parked right in front of the dorm building, followed by a second— Mark turns around in his heels.

Once more, Jaemin extends a hand to stop him, but this time his hand curls around Mark's arm in an iron grip. See, he's not one to get violent, not anymore, but Mark's had enough of Fox bullshit for the day. When Jaemin tugs at his arm, he brings his elbow backwards with the intention to slam it against his chest, but the other doesn't seem that fazed, his nails digging on Mark's skin.

"Aw, Doyoung, he's not much of a talker," Jaemin comments, and as Mark tries to fight his way out of his grip, he sees with the corner of his eye the duo from before walking up to them. Fuck. He kicks Jaemin's shin and pushes him off, stressed out. "Well, ain't you a fighter, huh, pretty?"

Mark shakes his head, picking up a fallen racket from the floor. When he looks up, the coach for the Palmetto State Foxes has one hand extended to him and a smile on his face. 

"I apologize for his terrible behavior. I'm Doyoung, how are you doing, Mark?"

Although grumpily, Mark shakes his hand, but he's not interested in apologies. His eyes naturally wander to the figure standing behind the man, talking to Jaemin in hushed tones.

The last time he'd seen Jeno Lee in person, Mark probably wasn't older than eight, and his father had just tried to scam the biggest Exy team in the country. It didn't end well, as his father is now a nobody and Mark is constantly getting in trouble with the Exy Rules and Regulations Committee because of his mistakes — and, now, his own as well! —, and he has to tear his gaze off Jeno's face before he ends up running away out of shame.

"Just peachy," he replies. "I'd advise you to keep your Foxes on a tighter leash next time. Who knows who they might bite."

The man lets out a tired sigh, looking back at where Jaemin leans against Jeno's side, a bored expression on his face now that he's succeeded in pissing Mark off and has nothing else to do. Suddenly, Mark pities the fact that all three of them have fled all the way from South Carolina to be turned down in person. He has no intention of signing to the Palmetto State Foxes, even if no other university will take him in. 

"I'm sorry that we started off on the wrong foot," Doyoung continues. "Listen, I'm going straight to the point because I don't have time. You must know why we're here, no?"

Doyoung Kim has a _reputation_. He's too good to have to take care of a team like that. The Palmetto State Foxes aren't the worst team in the country because of their pitiful results on court, because they _could_ be good with someone like Doyoung leading them, but because they're a bunch of hopeless, problematic ragtags who can't get along enough to last through an entire game. Mark is not a lost cause like them, not in the slightest, so he adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder and says, decidedly: "I won't sign to your team, you've wasted your time coming here."

"And why is that?"

Mark lets himself look back at Jeno for a couple of seconds, and finds the latter staring back at him. Six months ago, almost around the time Mark was admitted to the rehab center, the world of Exy tilted off its axis like it had never done before. The star athlete of the Edgan Allan Ravens had fractured his playing hand on a ski trip, and Jeno vanished from the public sight as the rest of the Ravens and their coach, his own mother, ignored the media — barely two months later, Mark managed to convince his therapist to let him get a newspaper, and found out that Jeno had moved to South Carolina to become Doyoung Kim's coach assistant.

Three weeks ago, PSU's lineup for the year was leaked and Jeno's name was listed as a striker. If the Foxes were irrelevant until then, they are now enemies of the state. Mina told him that Raven fans have invaded their dorm building at least twice since then, furious with the whole story.

Mark clears his throat: "Because I'm not good enough to play with a champion."

For the first time, Jeno speaks up: "True, but irrelevant," he says, pushing Jaemin off so he can stand by Doyoung's side. "You've been gone for six months and it is, indeed, absurd to even think about signing you so late, but we had your coach send us your tape from a game last year. You're not completely hopeless."

"Why, thank you," Mark replies dryly. He wonders if Jeno remembers him, but if he does, he's too polite to say it. This isn't something you bring up in a conversation; he might be one of the Foxes now, but Jeno is a born and raised Raven. The number 2 tattooed right under his eye is a reminder of that — when they were kids, he and Yeeun Jang would draw the numbers on each other with a pen, and got them tattooed once they were old enough to do so. "Although I appreciate the interest, I already signed for another team."

He doesn't expect either of them to see right through his lie, but it seems that Mark underestimated Jeno. He chuckles, crossing his arms.

"Bullshit, who would ever sign you?" Jeno asks, and Doyoung raises a hand to rest on his shoulder, as a warning. Jeno shrugs him off. "You're a good player, but you just got discharged. The ERC has their eyes on you, no one wants to sign a striker for five years only to risk them relapsing behind your back."

"No one but you."

Jeno nods. "No one but me, yes, so would you please stop wasting my time?"

"Stop talking immediately," Doyoung demands, and Jeno complies.

Mark sighs, looking over to the dorm building. He catches Hyunjin looking through the window and wonders if he'd been there the whole time — in no time, everyone in this university is going to know that he's being scouted by the Foxes. 

The quick, obvious answer would be no. But Mark never said he was too fond of a rational approach to things, and his heart swells at the thought that this, _this_ is a chance to become permanent once more. He won't be in a motel room, sulking that yes, he's clean, but he's got no team or a place to stay — and Exy, well, Exy has always been his answer. There are very few things he wouldn't do for the sake of the game, even if it means having to let Jeno be too close for comfort, or to move across the country and be left alone to deal with Jaemin and other Foxes.

Taking his silence as an opportunity, Doyoung taps his messenger bag. "We are in a bit of a rush, as we have a plane to take. I'll leave the papers with you for the night and you can scan and email them to me. We're hoping for an answer by tomorrow, of course, as I'd have to talk to the school board about taking you in."

Mark squints his eyes at the three of them — they're such odd figures, together like that. Nothing has been the same ever since Jeno signed for that team. "I'll think about it," he says, and watches as Jeno and Jaemin immediately turn around to go back to the car from before, a pair of horror movie twins. 

Sighing, Mark lets Doyoung give him his email and tucks the contract inside his duffel bag carelessly. As he's about to leave, Doyoung stops him with a light touch on his shoulder. "I'm sorry about them, they're pricks," he says, and he must say that a lot when it comes to his Foxes. "I'd really like to have you on my lineup, Mark. It's not just your talent, well, you must know why. We'd be more than glad to welcome you."

"Thank you," he replies, this time genuinely. "Have a good flight back home. And, Doyoung?"

The man nods at him, listening.

"Tell Jeno to unclench. He's not a Raven anymore."

Doyoung doesn't reply, but nods, chuckling as he waves him goodbye. With that, Mark turns around in his heels and heads for the parking lot.

🦊

Admittedly, Mark expected Doyoung to pick him up from the airport a week later.

"Man, Jaemin did tell me you were cranky," says the boy who was waiting for him right after baggage claim. Mark knows who he is — ever since he signed to the team, about two hours after his encounter with the coach and his Foxes, Mark has made a task out of memorizing the lineup and watching every single game he could find on the internet. Yangyang isn't the best backliner in the world, but he's taught himself how to be one rather quickly, as he used to be a dealer during high school days; he's not built, but he's smart, adaptive, he tries to offer Mark some gum but is met with no response. "Alright, so, what music do you like? You can be in charge of the aux cord today, I can't stand being in silence anymore."

Mark looks out of the window. They've been stuck in traffic for a while, some accident on the road. "I like Frank Ocean," he replies vaguely. Hyunjin listened to Frank Ocean a lot when they were roommates, it rubbed off on him. Mark can't possibly think of other things that he likes, he doesn't care for music that much anymore.

"Riiiiiiight," Yangyang reaches out for his phone when Mark doesn't move. He chews loudly on his bubblegum, tapping at the steering wheel with both hands accordingly to the tune of the song. He can't physically stay still — this is going to be a long ride.

South Carolina isn't awful. Mark saw some Foxes merch on the airport, disgustingly orange, and he was in a mildly good mood after being offered ice cream on the plane because the flight was delayed for two hours, so he found a snapback with a fox paw printed on it and snapped a picture of himself wearing it to send to Mina. His phone lights up with a notification and he opens their chat to see a bunch of laugh and heart emojis from her.

"Oh, is that your girlfriend?" Yangyang asks, leaning into his side. Mark has no reason to turn the phone away, but he frowns at the sudden proximity. "Can I see a picture? Is she from Arizona, too? And does she play Exy?"

"I'm not from Arizona," he replies. Yangyang is shocked to know he speaks, his eyebrows disappearing under his bangs.

"But is she your _girlfriend_?"

"No."

Yangyang nods. The traffic is better now, they manage to move forward a little before stopping again, and he turns to Mark with a smile on his face: "Is she looking for a boyfriend, then?"

Mark scoffs. Every straight and bisexual dude back in the Arizona Scorpions tried to score a date with Mina, but only the girls succeeded. He's not about to tell Yangyang that, though, because he's too nosy. He looks out of the window and watches as the city unfolds in front of him.

When they're about ten minutes from arriving at the university, Mark takes advantage of Yangyang being a cautious driver to study him. He's the youngest in the team, turning twenty one only in October, and he dresses like a hypebeast. Mark's found a checkered snapback on the backseat and the watch on his wrist looks more expensive than the car, a Maserati. 

Mark wonders what a rich kid like him is doing here, but he knows part of the answer. Yangyang was part of the double package when Doyoung signed Jaemin, they were foster siblings until Yangyang was of age and Jaemin wouldn't sign unless he did. He was born in Taiwan and lived in Germany for some time, and has been to more foster homes than Mak can count, is known for his goofy but sweet personality. He figures that the team is Yangyang's what, seventh chance at doing something good? Good for him.

The Palmetto State Foxes are a team of talented rejects. Every recruit comes from some sort of broken home, which is good for the public eye because, hey, new beginnings! It's cute and heartwarming in theory, but in reality, it just means that there was one time in which the second goalkeeper, Donghyuck, engaged in a fight with Jaemin in the middle of a game when he was subbing as a striker. They were both red carded, which means that they lost the game immediately for not having enough players. Nevermind other ridiculous stories — Mark doesn't have time to keep up with them, as they just keep happening.

"Oh, we're here!" Yangyang announces as he parks in a spot in their designated parking lot. Essentially, whoever thought of creating a team for this university didn't think that they'd have only eight players, nine with Mark — he recalls vaguely that a former backliner had quit the team around Easter, which means that they're the smallest team in the country. There are only four cars here, Mark notices as he gets out. There are also many signs of vandalism on the ground, very unfriendly gifts from Jeno's former fans who were not happy to see him changing teams.

He reaches out for his duffel bag in the backseat before Yangyang can even think about it. There, waiting for them, is Jaemin and, unsurprisingly, Jeno, standing behind him like a shadow. If anything, Mark finds it funny, but he supposes that Jeno isn't used to standing on his own. Back at Castle Evermore, the Raven stadium and dorm facility, every player is raised in a duo system — the world has never seen Jeno in a room without Yeeun Jang, and now here he is, miles away from home without her. He can't help himself, following Jaemin like that.

To think that Mark could've— he shakes his head. Jaemin opens his arms in a silent salutation, but when Yangyang goes in for the hug, he steps out of the way in a childish manner. The younger rolls his eyes and throws the keys of the car at him, then turns to Mark with his hands on his hips.

"So, you're delivered," he says. "We're going to have lunch, do you wanna come?"

Mark looks up at the dorm building behind the three of them. Differently from how things were back in Arizona, the athletes for this university have a dorm of their own, the so-called Fox Tower. It's an obscenely orange, four story building — he wonders if he can get a room for himself, figuring there must be vacant rooms since their team is so small. The soccer team must not occupy so many.

"I'd rather go to my room," he says, and Yangyang nods. "You think I can get a single?"

Jaemin lets out a laugh, and when Mark frowns, Yangyang pats him on the back. "No, the team's therapist doesn't allow that," he says, and Jaemin chimes in: _we're all too mentally ill for that!_ , and Yangyang promptly ignores him. "Your room is 418, fourth floor, your roommate should have moved back already. Coach told me to tell you, the keys should be under the carpet."

This time, Jaemin gags as he turns around, Jeno following close, and Yangyang points in the direction of the entrance hall before jogging to accompany them. 

Finally alone, Mark lets out a sigh. He waits until the three of them are out of sight before heading to the dorms. 

The campus is smaller than where he's lived before, but he'll have to ask if he wants to know his way around rather than just wander through the place, fearing of getting lost. Mark detests not knowing where things are, he knew all the hiding spots back ho— well. He just knew back then. 

Entering the building, he jogs upstairs instead of taking the elevator. The whole building looks like it's abandoned, with all the recent vandalism that the school board hasn't got fixed yet, but it gets better as he ascends. By the second floor, the walls are clean and painted white with orange strikes, some paw prints on the floor. Very thematic, very college like. He figures the soccer team is on this floor.

Mark kicks the carpet in front of room 418 and finds a key. Obviously, it has a paw print design engraved onto it, and he rolls his eyes as he uses it to unlock the door. They could at least have the fox as a symbol, but maybe that'd look too much like the symbol for the Breckenridge Jackals. It's better than the Scorpions merch he was used to, though.

It's a good dorm room, big enough to have a living area, a kitchenette, a bathroom and a bedroom area. There is no orange _inside_ the room, which is a relief, and Mark's roommate has put a big TV and a big couch in the living room, as well as installed a full videogame set. Mark takes a look at the bookshelf that holds the TV and admires his roomie's movie taste. There is a varsity jacket thrown over a chair by one of the desks.

In the bedroom, he finds a duffel bag thrown over the bed closest to the window. Mark sets his own bag on the floor next to his bed and figures that roomie must be having lunch now, so he takes a quick shower and makes a list inside his mind of the things he needs to buy. There are duvets in a cabinet but no sheets on the bed, and Yangyang could've at least told him that, but whatever. A better pillow because this one sucks, Mark realizes as he sits on the bed, already dressed, his hair still wet from the shower. 

Back to the living room, he realizes there aren't locks on his desk's drawers and he wonders if he can get some, he doesn't have anything particularly precious but if his roommate is anything like Jaemin, he doesn't want them around his stuff.

There are a couple of notepads and textbooks thrown over one of the desks, but the number on the orange and white varsity is enough for him to know who it belongs to. 6. He hums, not sure what he feels about his discovery, and puts on his shoes so he can go out and leave for a small shop place Yangyang had told him there was near the dorms.

The shopkeeper senses that he's a newcomer and gives him a cotton tote bag for his things as courtesy, and this time it has a fox printed on it. Everything around here is themed, he realizes, from the bookstore to the cafe to the small restaurant and the things being sold by the counter at this shop. All white and orange. There is a whole aisle of Foxes merch, and Mark has swallowed his previous assumptions when the shopkeeper tells him that the Foxes have a very solid fanbase. 

He supposes everybody loves a good story. It comes back to that. He chuckles at the sight of personalized mugs on a shelf, his teammates faces printed on them. Mark picks each of them up to inspect them; it's old merch, probably from last year, as Jaemin's hair is pitch black in his. Each mug comes along with a picture and the player's number on court, he turns Jaemin's around to see the number 3 printed on it even though he already knows. 

There are only a few mugs with his face on them, only one of Jeno, a couple of Yangyang's. There's the team captain Renjun, 5, with his unforgettable antibrow piercing. He's smaller than the average player but it isn't a problem — even if Exy is a very violent game, played indoors and prone to have more than one injury per match, you'll only get hurt if they catch you. As the dealer, Renjun is faster than most, he flies on his feet, but there's barely anything else about him on the internet. All that Mark knows about him is what other people say — that he's fierce, that he's slowly trying to push the Foxes up their rank year by year restlessly, and that he's the first openly trans Class I Exy captain. Mark moves onto the next mug and finds Lucas, 4, striker, everyone gushes over his dashing looks. He has a known drug abuse history just like Mark, so the latter wonders if that automatically makes them buddies. He hopes that it does not, putting the mug down. There isn't a mug available for Xiao Dejun, 8, dealer extraordinaire, but Mark is able to find a closed box just to look at his face. He has platinum blonde hair and looks like he's always two seconds from murder with eyebrows like that, but Mark's heard he's a very sweet guy.

The remaining players are off stock, as Mark's come to realize, but that's no problem. He rearranges the mugs and heads to the counter. The most famous player for the Foxes, well, before Jeno happened, was Guanheng Huang, or Hendery like it's written on the back of his gear alongside the number 1, for his easy going personality, good looks, performance on court as a backliner. Mark has never met any of them before, but he's seen Guanheng at the annual dinner that the ERC throws before the beginning of game season, and he just seems like a nice guy. 

And there's Mark's roommate, Donghyuck. He looks like a supermodel and behaves like one, and his rivalry with Jaemin is notorious. On Mark's last day in Arizona, Mina had made him promise that he would tell her all about their beef, to which Mark replied that he would not, clearly.

He has no real interest in any of these people, what they have done in the past or what's going on in between them. They're just something he has to endure for a bigger goal: to be able to play, and to keep playing until he can't no more. Mark puts his groceries on top of the counter and makes idle chit chat with the shopsheeper, uncharacteristically for him, and wanders around the bookshop until his stomach starts growling. The small restaurant seems like a good idea now that it's mostly empty — the term won't start until August, but the shopkeeper told him that the area is frequented by most Foxens fans and people that live in the surroundings. He orders a light meal for himself.

Looking out of the window as he chews, Mark observes the Fox Tower at the distance. That's home now, or that's going to become home at some point. He's going to spend three more years walking around this place. This is a new beginning, one that his therapist back at the rehab center told him it'd be good for him to have. He's starting off in a new place, a new team, a new university. Mark brings his glass of water to his lips and silently cheers to himself.

🦊

"Thoughts on your first day with Jeno?"

"I'm thinking about committing murder."

Yangyang cackles as he slaps his own thigh, leaning on Mark's side as he laughs, and Mark shies away from him. God, why does he have to be so touchy? Mark rolls his eyes as he chugs down a water bottle. He's gotten a stainless steel bottle from the shop because, apparently, the Foxes are into saving the environment, and there are no plastic bottles in the vicinity if it can be helped.

He watches as Jeno _continues_ to argue with Dejun over some stupid matter, noticing the way his shoulders tense up and he keeps opening and closing his fists, trying to make Dejun see his point. 

You know, the Ravens had put some work on him. Not a good job because Jeno isn't nearly as reserved as he should be — his emotions are all over him, even if he doesn't let his body acknowledge that. The pressure of being the number one son of Exy, Mark presumes. If _his_ mother had invented the sport, like, thirty years ago and the entire world revolved around him, maybe Mark would be a wrecking ball of stress, too.

"No, seriously, what did you think?" Yangyang asks, with a nudge to his side. God. He's insufferable. "Were the Scorpions more or less demanding than he is during practice? Well, get used to it, because Renjun is tiny, but he's worse."

First of all, the Scorpions were a team so big that they had to have different training hours. Today's practice was, essentially, the two of them plus Mark and Dejun running around the campus and hitting the gym because they're not allowed inside the court yet. They're painting the inside walls and polishing the floor or something, Mark hates the wait. He shakes his head negatively. "Jeno is going to have a stroke before the whole team is here," he comments instead. 

"Eh, he's not that bad," Yangyang replies. He tugs at his shirt repeatedly to try and cool himself down — it isn't as sunny as it was back in Arizona, but it's still summer, and Mark is drenched in sweat from head to toe. "He's just nervous about last week. Like, as soon as they got here after reaching out to you, people broke into our dorm again. He keeps thinking that the next time, the Ravens themselves will come back for hi—"

He stops himself short, and Mark pretends he didn't notice Yangyang slipping that out. The latter then comments about what they'll have for lunch at their private dining hall today, and Mark's eyes go back to Jeno's figure. So he hasn't fully gotten used to that change, either.

At some point, Dejun grows tired of Jeno's bullshit and throws his hands in the air, walking away from him with a tired expression. He's not much of a talker, ot at least he doesn't particularly enjoy talking to Jeno or to strangers like Mark, but he was polite to him at least. Mark has noticed that he and Yangyang get along better — he wonders if Yangyang happens to be the social butterfly of the team.

"Yo, Jen, my man!" Yangyang calls out, waving at him from where they're sitting at the bench closest to the gym's door. Jeno turns around for a second, raises his chin to let him know he's listening, and Yangyang adds: "Is Jaemin coming or not? He doesn't answer my texts."

Jeno makes a gesture like "I don't know," and goes back to his shoulder press. Sighing, Yangyang taps Mark's shoulder — seriously? — before getting up. He claims to be sore all over so he'll just chill outside before Jeno notices he has left, and Mark keeps sitting on the bench, watching his estranged teammates politely ignore his, as well as each other's, existences

He hasn't seen Jaemin ever since he arrived on campus. Mark had dinner with Yangyang at his request, and they talked briefly about the rest of their teammates arriving next week. Jeno was silent through the entirety of dinner and he's mad observing, which makes Mark feel uneasy, but be avoided all personal questions Yangyang could've asked like a champ. The youngest is clearly disappointed in the fact that Mark seems to be yet another brooding addition to the team. He should've learned by now not to get his expectations too high when it comes to the Foxes, so Mark doesn't care. This morning, he asked him why Jaemin didn't join them for a morning practice and Yangyang replied, simply: _I have no idea what goes on in Jaemin's head, dude._

Well, Mark had seen it coming. He spends some time on the treadmill just to have something to do and heads out for a shower right after Dejun is done, and by the time he's leaving the gym, Jeno is still there.

On his way back to the dorm, Mark glances over to their stadium. The Foxhole Court, as it's called, is big and bright, all white and orange as it should, and Mark dreamed of it at some point last night. Nothing special about that dream, he just really misses playing Exy. He spends a few minutes just looking at it before the sun starts getting uncomfortable and he keeps walking.

Donghyuck's stuff is untouched still when he gets back. He didn't sleep here tonight, nor has Mark seen him around campus. He didn't have to ask around, Yangyang told him he spends most of his time in his girlfriend's dorm room. Mark stares at his duffel bag before turning around in his heels and locking the door once more, planning to visit the bookstore.

Truth is, it's his second day and he's already terribly bored. His skin is itchy with the want to play and he really just wants to bother Doyoung until he lets him into court, but their coach is currently out of town. He'll be back Sunday, and Mark just has to survive three more days. It's fine.

He buys a book, then, not wanting to let go of his new habit, and considers reading it outside, somewhere nice with a shadow, but eventually gives up because he feels awkward walking around in an empty campus. Mark lazily wanders through the Fox Tower and ends up finding a study room by accident, which seems perfect for him. So he finds himself a comfortable chair and reads. It lasts for about six chapters before he feels compelled to do something out, so scrolls down his phone's contact list lazily. Mark's old phone broke, and he wasn't allowed to have one during rehab, so Mina gave him an older model that she had. 

He's never been obsessed with social media, so Mark only has Instagram and Twitter to keep up with Exy content. His only contacts now are Mina, Hyunjin, Doyoung and Yangyang — he sighs, letting the phone fall to his chest. Mark absentmindedly watches his own foot bouncing from where his legs are hanging from the side of the chair and sighs again.

He just _really_ wants to play. Maybe he can bribe the janitor into giving him the keys to the court, but he hasn't been introduced to any of the staff yet — it would be a bad beginning. It would be a very _his father_ thing to do, so Mark lets go of the idea and gets up from the chair and stretches his back. He then wonders if any of his teammates has the keys to the stadium, because snatching them wouldn't be a problem for him. It can't possibly ruin their non-existent relationship.

Mark taps a finger against his chin, in deep thought, before he prepares to leave. Maybe he'll catch the bus and get acquainted with the neighboring city, and he can go for a run tonight after dinner. He jogs his way upstairs as usual, lost in thoughts of the book he'd been reading, and stops when he finds someone between the fourth and third floor.

Jaemin doesn't see him at first, too engrossed in his own mind and he leans against the glass of the big window that illuminates every staircase with sunlight. He had pushed open one of the pivot sections closer to his arm's reach and let the ashes of his cigarette become one with the thing. Mark rolls his eyes — of all addictions, nicotine? Disgusting. He tries to make his way past him without being noticed but, of course, Jaemin turns to him with a grin:

"Why, hello, pretty. Had fun today?" 

Mark wants to ask him where he went this morning, but doesn't want Jaemin thinking he cares. 

"You're really not much of a talker, are you?" he asks. One of his legs dangles over the edge of the large windowsill, the other pressed to his chest, and he extends a hand to offer him the cigarette. When Mark doesn't move, he shrugs and takes one last drag off it, putting it off against the stone wall before flicking it off the window. "But do tell, tired of Jeno already? Renjun refused to play for two weeks when he became coach assistant, and it's really fucking hard to piss Renjun off. Trust me, I constantly am trying." 

"How does he play?" Mark asks instead, leaning against the opposite wall to Jaemin. He had no intention to sit and talk, but figures it's easier to get something from him rather than Yangyang, who gets distracted after two sentences. "His playing hand doesn't have the same strength and he tries to hide it all the time. I figured it trembles from time to time, it must have been an ugly fracture if he still hasn't recovered."

Jaemin raises his eyebrows. "Aren't you observing, then," he replies. "Jeno doesn't play with his right hand anymore."

That explains a lot, although Mark can't say he's not surprised. He's heard of players who taught themselves to play with their non-dominant hands, but that's mostly for players much older than Jeno — would explain his snappy behavior. Trying to learn the game through a new perspective isn't easy.

Jaemin tilts his head to the size as he looks at him, like Mark is a game plan he can't quite figure out. Being observed so closely makes him feel uneasy, so Mark continues his way up the stairs. Jaemin doesn't try to stop him.

🦊

He meets his roommate on Saturday at night, when Mark steps out of the bathroom and startles the shit out of Donghyuck, who brings his hand to his chest as if he's seen a ghost.

"You must be Mark," he says, although he doesn't get up from his bed to shake his hand or anything, and Mark greets him with a nod.

"There's mail for you, I put it on your desk," he says in lieu of hello. "And Jeno has been asking where you've been."

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, going back to undoing his bag. As he simply does not have anything else to do, Mark heads to the kitchenette to organize the groceries he's bought this morning and was too lazy to put away. The dining hall for the team is alright, but it feels weird to be sitting there with the others, so he figured he could try and cook something on his own. The lack of an actual oven is going to be a problem, sure, but he can buy a portable grill and there's a coffee machine down the corridor with free hot water for all students. 

At some point, Donghyuck clears his throat and Mark turns to look at him. He's finished putting away his clothes and is now going through his mail, sitting by the desk, his back turned to Mark. The back of his hair is longish at the nape and bleached.

"So, you're the Scorpions guy. What do you think of South Carolina so far?"

Mark hums. "College is the same everywhere. There are just different colors on the jerseys."

Letting out a laugh, Donghyuck promptly throws half of his mail stash on the garbage bin by his side, turning around in his seat to look at him. "And they're not terrorizing you too much, are they?"

It's funny that he doesn't have to ask who is. Mark shrugs, shoving a package of his favorite banana chips on the small cupboard over the sink that he claimed for himself.

"Not yet, no."

"Well, don't let Jeno get to your head before the season starts," Donghyuck continues, and Mark chuckles because he surely won't. The other taps his fingers against the back of his chair, lips pursing before he says: "You didn't ask for it, but I'm going to give you some advice. Stay away from him and Jaemin, and _maybe_ you'll last the year. You look tough, so it must not be difficult."

Mark raises his eyebrows. He heads to his desk and sits on the chair, leaning forward on his knees to listen. "Why?"

Donghyuck lets out a small scoff, turning back to his mail. "I mean, Jeno's not bad, he's just annoying and thinks that everyone who's not 100% obsessed with Exy like him is a waste of space, it's easy to ignore him. But Jaemin can be a bitch when he wants to and, trust me, he _always_ wants to. If you let him get under your skin once, he'll never leave."

They both stay silent for a while, and then Donghyuck adds: "Well, of course, you're free to do what you want. But the rest of the team have set up a bet over whether or not you'll join their little freak show, and I have money on you not being the type to become Jaemin's lap dog, so do me a favor, would you?"

Mark doesn't reply.

🦊

Coach comes back on Sunday afternoon, and by six o'clock Yangyang knocks on their door to incessantly until a very grumpy Donghyuck, who had been napping on the couch while Mark looked over the textbooks that came to him by mail, opened the door and told him to fuck off.

"Dinner at coach's tonight," Yangyang announces, completely unfazed, and Mark turns around in his seat to watch as he tries to give Donghyuck a hug, but is pushed away with a hand. "How I _missed_ your sour face, Hyuckie. You both get ready and meet us there in an hour, alright? Dress nicely, you two."

The ride to Doyoung's place is uncomfortable, to say the least. Donghyuck drives a Mercedes and he's terrible at it, Mark wonders how he got away with getting a license and realizes it's well, Donghyuck Lee. He probably bribed his examinator. It's a ten minute ride and they almost crash against other cars at least three times, and when it happens again, Mark sends a worried look to where Dejun is sitting on the backseat, but the latter looks completely used to Donghyuck's terrible driving.

Mark wouldn't risk saying they're friends, but figures that Dejun would rather walk than ride with the others. When they arrive at the right apartment block, Mark is out of the car in a heartbeat, taking a deep breath before he follows them inside. _He_ might walk back to the dorms on his own.

The Maserati that Yangyang drove to get him from the airport is parked closer to the building, but Donghyuck made a show of parking with a distance of three cars and a motorbike. While Mark shouldn't care much, he really is dying to know what made him detest Jaemin in the first place. Maybe he can ask Yangyang — he seems to love gossip.

"Okay, so here's the thing," Donghyuck says as he taps the right code at the gates for them to open. "The one with the dimples is coach's husband and he's a sweetheart, truly an angel, so be nice to him or be ready to face violence. And don't sit next to Jaemin because he's going to stab you under the table and he knows how to hit _all_ major arteries."

To which Dejun interrupts him: "He doesn't know how to hit all major arteries, Mark, but you can sit with me if you want."

Mark nods. He follows them into the elevator and presses his back against the mirror, listening as the other two chat quietly about what's for dinner tonight. Waiting for them at the door is Doyoung, a dishcloth thrown over his shoulder, and he so very grumpily welcomes Donghyuck and Dejun with a hug each before they enter, but respectfully extends a hand for Mark to shake.

"Hope you're doing good, Mark," he says, and points at the commotion behind himself with a thumb. "They giving you much trouble?"

"Trying to, but I'm tough," he replies in an attempt of a joke, and Doyoung chuckles as he steps out of the doorstep to let him inside.

It would be a spacious and beautiful flat if it wasn't for the mess inside — the rest of the team will only arrive next week, but Mark's already feeling like it's too crowded, and this is coming from someone who played in a team with thirty eight people. The Foxes are just… Too much in their essence. He leaves his shoes by the door alongside others and Yangyang spots him from where he's standing in the kitchen — Mark walks past the living room where Donghyuck and Jaemin are bickering over the TV remote and enters the kitchen, almost timid.

He's never been one to be shy, but meeting strangers always makes him uneasy. Yangyang tries to greet him with some made up handshake that Mark obviously fails to memorize, and then the younger promptly shoves him in the direction of a man that can only be Doyoung's husband. He has a very kind smile and some flour on his cheek, and he extends a hand for Mark to shake.

"Hi, I'm Jaehyun," he says. When he speaks, Mark realizes that he's seen him before; he used to play for the USC Trojans in his college time, and the national team in the last Olympic games. He's a fool for not asking before, now he's just standing here like a moron in a professional player's kitchen. "You must be Mark. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You too," Mark replies, smiling. "You have a beautiful home. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Oh, no, he's too polite to start bossing you around this soon," Yangyang interrupts. He tries to steal something from a bowl over the counter but Jaehyun turns around in time to bat his hand away. "C'mon, you should be glad I'm eating _vegetables_ , Jaehyun."

"Out of my kitchen, now!"

All in all, it isn't awful — Jaehyun has the other Foxes setting up the table and finishing the dishes, and it's funny to see them in such a mundane context. Mark chats with Doyoung by a pair of doors in the living room that leads to a balcony, tells him that he expects of the following game season, his first impression of his teammates. By the time Doyoung tries to yet again convince him into promising he will tell him if something goes wrong during his early weeks at Palmetto State so he can either kick their butts or find someone who will, dinner is ready and Mark turns back in time to watch a silent dispute between the others, over who's going to sit where. Dejun tries to be ironic and offers Jeno a seat like you'd do to a prince, but the latter indeed sits down and thanks him, which makes everyone else laugh at the poor attempt. 

For a minute or two, they're alright. This is what the Foxes, well, a part of the Foxes looks like when there aren't cameras flashing and people waiting for their sudden downfall. 

Mark sits by Dejun's side as he said he would and mostly observes through the entirety of dinner — the conversation is, obviously, about Exy, which everyone but Jaemin actively engages with. He's uncharacteristically quiet, sitting there by the edge of the table and farthest from him, or maybe Mark doesn't know him at all, but he still keeps an eye on how Jaemin pushes the food on his plate around until Jaehyun tells him to eat like a father would do to a son and he, surprisingly, does. 

At some point, his gaze falls on Mark and he notices it a heartbeat too late, with the way Jaemin smiles at him and rests his chin on his hand, eyebrows wiggling in a tease. Mark has no idea what his problem is, so he engages in the staring game for a few minutes before going back to the conversation. Across the table from him, Donghyuck sends Jaemin a murderous look, but is met with no response.

They have coffee in the living room, Mark squished between the arm of the couch and Donghyuck's figure as he sips from his cup. He learns that Doyoung and Jaehyun got married as soon as they graduated, which to Yangyang can only mean that _true love exists_ — it earns him a gag from Dejun, and Doyoung tells him to shut the fuck up, please —, and while Mark, too, can't fathom the idea of being with someone for so long, they truly are a lovely couple. He can't help himself and asks Jaehyun about making it to Court, absorbs all that information like he's a sponge, and then remains quiet as the rest talk.

His gaze naturally falls to where Jeno is sitting in a chair adjacent from him, gesticulating enthusiastically about some game from last week. Jeno and Yeeun made it to the national team for the Olympic Games even though they were only high schoolers back then. Thirty years ago, Exy was invented by his and Yeeun's mothers, so both of them were born and raised in the game. By the time the sport took over the world, they already had personalized rackets and a whole stadium, Castle Evermore, all to themselves. Jeno has never attended school per se, he had the best tutors in the country brought to him so he wouldn't even have to leave the facility. 

He's the best Class I Exy player that Mark's ever seen, and Yeeun doesn't fall short. It's been years since the last time Mark's seen her in person, but she's grown up in front of the cameras as well — the both of them, most valuable Class I players in the country. And now, well— Mark watches as Jeno nervously massages his right hand, partially hidden in the way he's got his legs pulled to his chest.

It truly is a pity. Mark can't wait to see him play now.

🦊

It's a sunny morning when Mark is eating breakfast alone at a table by the window in the dining hall when Jeno sits on the chair across to him and says: "You and I are practicing together today."

Mark doesn't look up from his morning newspaper when he hears that, but does so when Jeno slams his left hand on top of the table, leaving a ring of keys there. Mark's heart skips a beat, reaching out for the keys: "Is that… ?"

Jeno snatches the keys away before he can get a hold of them, they disappear in the front pocket of his sweatpants. He's in an awfully good mood today, from the looks of it, the permanent scowl of his features absent for the first time since they met back in Arizona, his shirt obnoxiously sky blue. Mark realizes, then, that they are much more alike than he had thought initially — if the idea of finally being allowed into court is capable of making Jeno look like that, then maybe Mark will start liking him a little better. He finishes the rest of his breakfast in a matter of seconds and gets up to put his tray away, but stops dead in his tracks.

"Wait, I don't have my gear yet."

Jeno looks at him like he's stupid —, great, they lasted exactly two minutes. "Your gear is at the Foxhole Court, waiting for you. What do you think we are, some high school team? Jesus." 

The thought of it excites him so much that he's going to ignore him. Mark rushes to return his tray to the kitchen staff, thanks them endlessly and meets Jeno by the entrance. They walk to the Foxhole Court together in complete silence, but Mark quickens his pace as they get closer to the stadium, his fingers curling around the holes of the big iron fence surrounding it.

"Let me in," he says, and Jeno unlocks the gates for him.

The Foxhole Court is, indeed, a monstrosity. Mark's been watching it from the distance since day one and he's still breathless, but Jeno pushes past him when he stops to look at it with full intention to be annoying, so Mark doesn't waste time following him inside. They're going in through the main gate so he gets a chance to see the entrance hall — Mark can't wait to see this filling up with people, lining up to get food and heading for the staircases that lead to the court. 

Jeno's becoming an addition to the team must have brought a lot more money to the university than what he previously thought. Everything looks brand new as if the stadium was built yesterday, Mark can see his reflection on the linoleum floor. He follows Jeno through a set of doors that reads TEAM & STAFF ONLY that leads to a corridor, branching out in four other doors. Jeno points at them as they walk to the vert last. "Staff bathroom, team's lounge, this one leads to a conference room and this," he pushes the last door open with a hand. "Is our changing room."

Something in the way he said "our" made Mark's stomach do a flip. This is his place, he realizes, or this is going to be his place soon. He doesn't feel like belonging just yet, but he's signed a contract and he's one of the Foxes now — this place is where all roads lead to. It's where all roads will ever lead to, to the one thing he loves the most in the world.

There's a locker in the opposite wall to the door that's freshly painted orange and has his name on it. He's got five different sets of gear — two for practice, one for playing away, one for playing at home and a spare set —, a drawer full of protection pads and his helmet on the top shelf. He runs his fingers through all of it adoringly, and then lets his hand curl around the shaft of one of the rackets they had ordered just for him.

It's nothing he isn't used to — he had all of this when he played for the Arizona Scorpions for a year and a half —, but it also feels brand new. He swings his racket from side to side experimentally and the weight and the balance are perfect, as if it's an extension of his arm. He can't wait to play.

He stretches and changes right there and so quickly that he has to wait for Jeno to finish adjusting his gloves. He's so methodical, so slow in everything he does, Mark rolls his eyes, fumbling with his neck protection absentmindedly. It always makes him feel like he's choking, but it's better than to risk having a straight ball crush his trachea.

It takes Jeno forever, but when he's done, Mark follows him through another corridor until they're inside the inner court. He presses his hands to the plexiglass wall even before Jeno turns on the lights to the stadium, and watches in awe as it comes alive in front of him.

Sixty-five thousand seats surrounding freshly refurbished flooring, walls painted a bright white with orange streaks. He looks up at the VIP lounge and the press area and considers walking around the inner court just once, but Jeno's already got a bucket of practice balls under his arm and is heading inside, so he might as well follow.

They run laps around the perimeter and Jeno puts him through a couple of stupid drills just because he's a practice freak, but Mark doesn't complain in the slightest. Practice with only two people isn't nearly as practical as it would be if they had at least another other player with them, and he wishes, for once, that Jaemin had come with Jeno. They could use a goalkeeper. Of course, there's Donghyuck, but he's off to his girlfriend's place again and Mark hasn't seen him for a couple of days. He doubts he'd practice with Jeno, also. 

Mark watches as Jeno positions himself in the middle of the court and starts walking towards the goal, muttering under his breath. He sets the bucket on the floor and motions for him to come closer.

"I'll be the goalkeeper for you today. Give your all, or give me nothing," he says, and only when he begins walking to the goal that Mark realizes that Jeno hadn't been carrying a striker's racket. While theirs are much lighter, made of aluminum and considerably shorter, with shallower nets, goalkeeper rackets are heavy and made of wood, and while Jeno isn't short, the one he's picked is almost the same size as him — must be Jaemin's. 

Mark picks up a ball from the bucket and throws it in the air, catching it with his opposite hand. Truth be told, he's nervous — he hasn't been inside of a court for almost seven months, and he wasn't able to convince other patients at rehab to play Exy with him. They didn't even have equipment there. He's terribly out of shape for this, but if he runs away now, Jeno is only going to think he's a joke.

"Stop wasting my time, Mark," Jeno calls out from the distance, swinging the heavy racket from side to side. 

Well, there he is. "Fuck off," he replies, but Jeno pretends not to listen.

Mark takes a deep breath and positions the ball in his nest, then tries to remember the last Scorpion formation he's learned — in Exy, you're not allowed to take more than ten steps while in possession of the ball, and moving like that is as natural as breathing is for him. He purposely shots at Jeno's weaker side but, to his surprise, the latter defends it without difficulty.

After five other shots, all in which he hadn't been able to score, Mark realizes he must be far worse than he thought. If Jeno can defend without having ever played as a goalkeeper before— Mark sighs as he tries again, and again, and again. 

He manages to score a few times, but Jeno gives up on trying to defend entirely and just leans against the racket, complaining about his technique with every shot. He's a severe teacher, as Mark would've expected, and Jeno's good mood from earlier doesn't mean a thing now. He's an entirely different person inside these walls, and he keeps snickering, taking walks behind Mark's back. 

At some point, Mark stops, turning back to him as he clutches the racket with both hands. "Can you shut the fuck up? You're not the boss of me,"

Jeno raises his eyebrows. "Oh, you _need_ me to be the boss of you, if you're going to play like that. I shouldn't let you in here in this state, but where else would practice? I'm sure your dorm room's too small."

Mark rolls his eyes. He's unbelievably annoying, and while he'd love to hit Jeno in the head with his racket, Mark turns around and goes back to practice. He fires at the goal until the bucket is empty, and then Jeno makes him pick up the nearest balls from where they rebounded and keep going. By the time he stops, Mark's arms are jelly and he has difficulty breathing, but doesn't allow himself to sit on the floor. He's sure he wouldn't be able to get up.

"You need to improve very quickly," Jeno tells him, as honest as ever, when they finish gathering the stray balls and are gulping down water bottles in the changing room. "The others are not the brightest, but they're not miserable in the slightest. You are."

"I haven't played in seven months," Mark breaths out. 

Jeno scoffs, clicking the cap of the stainless steel bottle closed. "Then hurry up. The clock is ticking, official practice starts in two weeks and you'll learn Renjun and Doyoung combined are not to mess with," and then, he gets up to take a shower.

When he's out of sight, Mark sighs, taking one last sip of his water. His bones are aching like hell, but it's a good kind of pain, one that he's missed like a lung. It feels like everything else in the world could only lead to this.

🦊

Two weeks pass, then, and Mark spends most of it inside the Foxhole Court, either practicing by himself or with a partner of choice — Jeno is awful as he's always been and keeps odd times, so Mark tries to avoid him when he has the chance or else he's just going to tell him to eat shit. Yangyang is a goof but he's tough, once Mark and Dejun play against him alone and he still gives them a hard time; a rare but enjoyable time when Donghyuck agrees to guard the goal for them — Mark has soon learned that he doesn't like spending time on the court for longer than he needs to without Renjun, their offensive dealer. They might be two peas in a pod, but he's also learned that Donghyuck can and will be bribed with free booze anytime. 

Mark has other business, sure, such as a mandatory check-up with the team's doctor where a woman called Irene pokes at him, takes his blood, asks about his time on rehab, check his track marks and signs him off as an official addition to the Palmetto State Foxes; he'll also have to enroll with the freshmen in August as he's missed the early athlete submissions, but it's alright with him.

The last batch of Foxes arrive barely three days before they're supposed to start practicing as a team. Donghyuck wakes up when it's still dark outside to fetch Renjun from the airport and complains about his lack of sleep until he's out of the door, and by the time Mark wakes up, the other two have arrived as well, as he can notice by the loud chatter, music and eventual screaming coming from another room in this floor.

He hasn't fully changed out of his pyjamas yet when Donghyuck barges into the room and motions for him to come outside. "The guys are in the room across the corridor if you wanna come. I'm sure whatever kind of food Lucas brought from home is better than that sad granola bar, and he's kind of demanding you that everyone comes. That includes you."

Mark shoves the rest of it inside his mouth anyway, taking one last look at the documents he'd been reading before getting up from his desk.

Clearly, the team divides into three branches — there's Jeno, Jaemin and Yangyang; Donghyuck and Renjun; and Dejun, Lucas and Guanheng. While most of them are civil to each other, Yangyang seems to be the one to float from group to group; it's nearly impossible for him not to, given that he will engage in a conversation with anyone who's willing to listen. Still, when Mark walks through the open door to room 419, he finds more than half of the team sitting either on a red couch or sprawled out on the floor, cans of ice tea and food containers on the floor.

It's nice that they're trying to make him feel welcomed, but he doesn't miss the way Donghyuck is just sitting there awkwardly at the end of a bed. He's not the only one that doesn't quite feel at home, then.

"Hey, you!" exclaims the tall one with the short black hair, pushing himself off where he'd been leaning against one of the desks. He approaches Mark with a big smile on his face and his hand spreaded out for him. "I'm Lucas, thanks for coming. We were all excited to meet you!"

"Thanks for the invite," he replies. Lucas' handshake is way too firm and too enthusiastic — he's like one of those overgrown dogs who don't realize they're not puppies anymore. "Did you have a good flight?"

Lucas nods, his eyes sparkling as he immediately tells Mark all about it, gesturing for him to pick a place to sit. He ends up sitting with Guanheng on the floor, and the latter introduces himself with a lopsided grin and offers him spicy chips that Mark refuses politely.

"Now that we're here—" Lucas starts, but stops himself short to count the heads inside the room. "No, fuck, where's our feisty captain? Heng, didn't you say he finished moving in already?"

"Eh, he's probably with coach," Guanheng replies, flicking off crumbs from his shirt. He looks up at where Donghyuck is sitting by the edge of one of the beds, typing on his phone with clear disinterest. "Do you know? _Hey_. Donghyuck Lee."

Donghyuck raises his eyebrows, still not looking up from his phone. "How the fuck would I know that, dude? I don't live inside his head."

Guanheng doesn't mind the rudeness, turning around with a huff, but Lucas whistles and mutters _awkward…_ under his breath. He then starts talking about his short break from college, that he's excited for game season, as he talks with his hands so much that he ends up knocking Dejun's snapback off his head accidentally. The latter's been quietly reading something from a notepad over his lap, and he doesn't even react when Lucas presses a loud kiss to his cheek in an apology, only taps his thigh with a hand and keeps reading.

Well, that's new. Mark didn't know they were a thing, and there was nothing about it in his research. He chuckles when Guanheng coos, bringing his hands to his chest as if he's getting emotional. "Ah, lovebirds," he teases. "I wonder who's going to become the next couple in this team."

"Hopefully there won't be another," Donghyuck comments in a bored one. "Foxes are too fucked up in the head to date anyone. You guys are cute, though. Invite me to the wedding."

Guanheng scoffs: "You're one to talk. You chose the _worst_ person to date, no one can top that."

The rest of them laugh but Mark stays silent — he wonders what's wrong with Donghyuck's girlfriend for Guanheng to say that. He expects Donghyuck to come up with some sort of snarky comment, but he sighs loudly and gets up, walking out of the room without a word. Guanheng makes a sound like a kicked puppy.

"Way to go, Heng," Dejun comments. "That was actually so stupid, I'm surprised he didn't deck your ass. Maybe therapy truly helps after all."

"Donghyuck doesn't deck _anyone's_ ass anymore!" Guanheng protests. "Renjun prohibited him from doing so after the Columbia incident last year. And therapy _helps_!"

"Can we not talk about that? Can we please not talk about that?" Lucas asks, exasperated. He extends a hand to the bag of chips that Guanheng is holding, but the latter has no intention of sharing anymore. "We're scaring Mark off. Listen, Donghyuck is _not_ a violent person, none of us are. We're done with those things. We're past it."

Guanheng mutters: "Therapy helps."

Mark shrugs. He doesn't know how to break to them that he has no expectations whatsoever when it comes to this team. The rest of the country already thinks they're on each other's throats more often than not, he didn't come here thinking he'd find a family. 

"What's the Columbia incident, though?" he asks, giving in to his curiosity. Lucas lets out a long sigh, rubbing his temples with the tips of his fingers, but it is Dejun who speaks up:

"In their freshmen year, Jaemin drove Donghyuck to Columbia for a night out and got him as high as the Empire State Building so he'd embarrass himself, which he did, of course. Donghyuck got mad the next morning and keyed his car so badly that he had to buy a new one, so Jaemin trashed _his_ car with his racket, and Donghyuck tried to strangle him during practice. Doyoung prohibited them from stepping inside court and our subs were awful, so we didn't even get past the first game of the season that year. They haven't been on speaking terms ever since."

"They were never on speaking terms to begin with," Guanheng comments. "That was just the cherry on top. They're the same brand of self-centered pricks and one can't stand the other trying to out-prick him. It's a pride issue. I'm still betting $50 that Donghyuck has the upperhand, though. He's gonna make Jaemin quit the team one day."

Lucas scowls. "Don't _bet_ on the rivalry. It's not nice."

"Yeah," Dejun adds, closing his notepad. Watching them talk is like watching Exy — Mark doesn't know where he wants to look at, because the imaginary ball is hard to keep up. He's awfully entertained. "Because Jaemin is not quitting the team, ever. Especially now that Jeno is here. He doesn't care enough to quit."

Guanheng slaps his own forehead. "God-fucking-damn it. Why did I not think of that? Can I change my bet?"

With a tired look on his face, Lucas turns to Mark and says: "Welcome to the Foxhole Court. Would you like some iced tea?"

🦊

All in all, Mark doesn't know how someone ever thought this could work.

The first practice of the year is fine for about thirty minutes — after officially introducing Mark to the team, reminding everyone that funny business in court is prohibited and a bunch of other things whose references Mark doesn't get but everyone else does, judging by the look on their faces, coach had them doing common drills for a while before separating them on two teams. With an even number of players, it would suck, but Jeno plays for two even if it's with his weaker hand; they're _fine_. Since Donghyuck and Jaemin had to stand nearly a thousand yards from each other, Mark didn't think it could go wrong. 

If it is pitiful to watch the Foxes playing on the TV, it's worse to be in the middle of it. They're not awful, each of them personally — Guanheng, for example, is an excellent player, he's on Mark's team for the day and they seem to communicate well despite not having played together before. But altogether, they don't know how to be a team, and Mark has no idea either, and he decides that he really admires Renjun for carrying this team since his freshman year. It's a hell of a task.

They didn't have the chance to talk properly, only a quick introduction in the changing room, but Mark's always thought that the best way to meet someone is to see how they act inside court. Renjun is a serious, mature player who plays clean and fair, and he doesn't go easy on Mark because it's his first day, judging by the way he body-checks him within the first five seconds in which he's in the possession of the ball. He has mild control over most players, including Jeno — which is surprising —, but he has to physically drag Donghyuck back to the goal in the middle of the game. It's when things start going wrong.

"Oh, that's going to be fun," Guanheng muses with a giggle, resting his racket over his shoulder. He looks at Mark to see if he deems it funny as well, but is met with a scowl from Jeno. Mark hates that Doyoung put the three of them together, but knows that it's best if he doesn't complain.

"Pull yourself together," Jeno demands, and Guanheng stops laughing immediately. On the other side of the court, Donghyuck points at Yangyang with and grunts something that they can't hear. "Mark, you should watch your left side."

"Thanks, man, I didn't ask."

He shrugs, unfazed. When they resume playing, Mark gets it — Dejun is calm and composed off court, but murderous inside it. He slams his body against Mark's so hard that his racket flies across court, and they lose precious minutes when he has to chase after it. Jeno flashes him a condescending smile when Mark runs past him to get to their initial formation. 

Truth be told, he's terribly out of shape. Mark can't even get past Yangyang, less alone score — if Jeno wasn't busy scoring for them, he'd be dragging his ass the entire time, and maybe Mark would let him this time.

The most infuriating thing about it all, though, has to be Jaemin — nevermind the way everybody's snappy, overly aggressive for a friendly match, he's just… Doing nothing. Mark sighs loudly when Lucas scores twice in a row — if he can get past Jeno, he doesn't even have to make an effort, because Jaemin is simply not interested in defending, leaning against his racket and letting the goal free for conquest. 

"Can't you at least try?" Mark asks him when he's close enough to be heard. Jaemin flashes him his middle finger and a bright smile. He groans and starts running again.

They pause at forty five on the dot. Doyoung tiredly rubs a palm against his face as soon as the doors open and yells at them to rest, so they're free to leave the court — Donghyuck is the first, throwing his racket on the floor immediately, and he's followed by Lucas and Dejun. Looking back, Mark watches as Jaemin simply sits on the floor, helmet off, and stares back at him with a grin.

"What's your problem, anyway?" he hears Renjun ask as soon as he steps off court to get some water. Mark accepts a water bottle from Dejun and sits on a bench to watch as the mess unfolds. "We just got back, Donghyuck. Can you try a little?"

" _He_ started," Donghyuck argues. He's lost his helmet somewhere along the way, hair tied back by a bandana, and looks absolutely pissed. "When Yangyang stops being an ass, maybe I'll take him seriously."

Yangyang sighs from where he's leaning against a locker. "It was a joke, learn how to take one, Jesus Christ."

"Hey," Donghyuck calls, pointing at him with his gloveless hand. "I'm not your friend, so don't joke around me. In fact, don't speak to me ever again."

Raising his hands in defeat, Yangyang turns around in his heels and heads for the bathroom. Renjun groans loudly as he turns back to his team:

"This is a huge mess," he says. "Welcome back, Foxes. I expect way better from you for the second half. Coach, a word?"

Following the captain's gaze, Mark looks back to where Doyoung had been watching them in complete silence, arms crossed over his chest, and he nods and turns around, out to the corridor that leads to other rooms in the facility. Renjun follows him shortly after. Not wanting to engage in any sort of conversation, Mark gets up from the bench and heads back to court, ignoring it when Lucas calls out for him.

He finds Jeno firing shots at the goal by himself, Jaemin sitting with his back pressed to the plexiglass wall behind the goal. He had disposed of most of his gear, fully confident that Jeno would never miss a shot and hit him instead, and waved happily at Mark as if he hadn't seen him all day.

Mark doesn't get it. Donghyuck being difficult when the team is in shambles is understanding, as well as is Jeno's unyielding ways and the other's response to the game, but Jaemin… He just doesn't get it. He personally would never put himself through anything that he didn't enjoy, but supposes that Dejun is right — Jaemin doesn't care enough to quit. He spends the entirety of their second half completely still, staring at the endless rows of orange seats that surround the court as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. 

It's worse than the first half, because they're all tired and worn out, and Doyoung puts them through cardio and torturous drills as punishment because, truly, all the scolding in the world wouldn't be able to fix this team. Even Jeno hasn't found it in himself to complain, he must've wasted all his energy in arguing chest to chest with Renjun in the middle of the game until Lucas grabbed them both by the grid of their helmets and separated them forcefully.

"I'm sorry you had to see that shitshow," Renjun tells him when he gives Mark a ride back to the dorm. "It'll get better in the following weeks."

Donghyuck scoffs in the backseat. He hasn't said a word since his outburst back in the changing room, but Renjun looks at him through the rearview mirror and says: "If you're going to be an asshole, don't even start. I'm done with you for today."

He remains in silence, then. Mark clears his throat: "What are your plans for the season, Renjun?"

The latter hums, running a hand through his bleached hair — the tips are tinted purplish, makes him look like an artist — before he begins explaining, in detail, where he intends on bringing the team. Mark forces himself to make little commentary, as he doesn't want to become a nuisance when they barely know each other, but Renjun is much more receptive to change than how the captain for the Scorpions was like, and Mark understands why Doyoung made him captain in the first place. Even after they park by the Fox Tower and Donghyuck heads to the elevator stomping his feet, the two of them continue talking.

"It's not that awful," Renjun comments when the subject changes to, well, the Foxes. He's waiting as Mark tries to get something from the beverage machine in the lounge — now, with more people having moved to the dorms as other teams arrived, it seems like Fox Tower is slowly being brought back to life. "It was worse in the beginning, anyway. No wonder why all of our subs quit."

"What's your idea of a lineup for the first match of the season?" Mark asks. He opens a can of iced tea and offers him some, but Renjun shakes his head negatively. "Against Breckenridge, right?"

"Yeah, they ruined us last year," Renjun replies, and he taps a finger against his cheek as they resume walking. "Coach and I thought of putting you and Jeno on the first half, and Lucas subbing for Jeno on the second. I know you just got here, but we don't want to have Jeno playing full games yet."

"No worries at all. So, Jaemin on the goal and you dealing?"

Renjun purses his lips. "If Jeno convinces him to play, sure. I'd rather not tire him out at first, though, because Breckenridge have enough players to carry through the game and we don't. When Jaemin gets serious, it's impossible to get past him."

He's going to hate himself for asking, but as they walk up the stairs and he's reminded of his previous encounter with Jaemin, Mark turns to him once more. "What's his deal, anyway? How is he supposed to play if he doesn't bother defending during practice?"

Renjun stays silent until they reach their floor, to the point Mark thinks he's simply going to ignore him, but then he lets out a sigh. "Jaemin practices with Jeno at night. Trust me, he's real talent, he just needs to be compensated with good reward in order to play."

Mark nods, then makes a gesture like he's drinking, an eyebrow raised. Renjun laughs as he shakes his head negatively. "No, he hates drinking. Just… It's stupid anyway. Small promises here and there. The last time I let him take Jeno on a ride and we won three games in a row. You must know why we don't usually let him near cars, I suppose?"

"Because he's nuts and trashed Donghyuck's car?"

"Because he's, um, he's not allowed to drive," Renjun says. They stop by the door to his dorm's room, the one he shares with Guanheng, but he leans against it instead of going in, crossing his arms as he looks at Mark. "Jaemin is a little partial to stealing, you see, and he's never done anything critical until one time last year when he stole a car."

Mark has a very faint memory of reading something similar on the news, he's surprised it didn't come to mind sooner. "Partial, like, casual or… ?"

"He's a klepto," Renjun deadpans, and then adds: "Anyways, he trashed the car in an accident and, of course, it wouldn't normally stop him, but Irene said she wouldn't allow him to play if he drove again, so Jeno keeps his keys all the time."

"I thought he didn't care about Exy."

"He doesn't."

"I don't understand. Why would he even agree to that, then?"

"Mark, here goes some advice," Renjun replies, sounding an awful lot like Donghyuck. "The more you try to understand what goes on inside Jaemin's head, the less sense he'll make. That's just how it is."

Suddenly, the door opens, startling the both of them, and a very grumpy Guanheng sticks his head out. "Some of us are trying to get their beauty sleep here, cap. Not everyone is lucky to naturally have a face as cute as yours."

Renjun sighs, shoving his face away with a hand as he bids Mark goodnight. 

🦊

It doesn't get better in the following weeks, but it doesn't worsen either. They slowly learn how to dance along to that weird ballad of theirs — they all have clashing perceptions but the same goal. The Palmetto State Foxes have been ranked dead last every game season for years, way before any of them were here, and while Renjun — and Jeno, for that matter — is not aiming for the stars, he's at least trying to get them somewhere that is not rock bottom. It's not like anyone is contrary to that.

Arguing is inevitable, of course, but the most civil ones have somewhat of a silent agreement not to step on each other's toes too much. Yangyang still makes snarky remarks, although, and he still gets the dirty eye. Mark engages in a heated argument with Dejun and Jeno that lasts for an hour during practice and about two hours after it, all because they couldn't get to a point. But fighting inside court is strictly prohibited, and the captain is able to keep the most violent arguments from happening, either with smart arguments or by simply curling his fingers on the grid of Jeno's helmet and pulling him away from the fights he picks. 

Renjun, Mark realizes, is the only person besides Jaemin that Jeno listens to, which is to say a lot. All in all, Jeno values discipline because he's well-versed on it. It doesn't mean that he's any easier to talk to, though, because if he was annoying weeks ago, he's impossible to please now. Not that Mark has any interest in becoming a sweetheart to Jeno's standards, he just wishes the guy would chill a little before popping a neck vein at age twenty one or before he's killed in his sleep.

All in all, they kind of forget about him for a bit. It's easier to blend into the background when you're watching old stories unfold rather than actively taking part of them. He wasn't here when these people were put together, and he most probably won't see what are the long term results of this ongoing car crash — if he's about to have his own story, his own hero's journey, Mark doesn't know, nor does he care a lot about it right now. As Donghyuck likes to say, he's got a mouth but is not much of a talker, he's a people watcher; he enjoys watching them more than he should. The Foxes are better than any movie.

"Good morning, creep," says Donghyuck's voice from somewhere. Mark feels a push against his shoulder and blindly tries to bat his hand away, face pressing further into his pillow. "We have a press conference tonight, introduce you to the public and all,"

"Yeah, tonight," Mark argues. His eyes are closed but he feels it when Donghyuck opens the blinds of their window, all that clarity seeping through his eyelids, and groans. "As in _hours_ from now. What's gotten into you?"

Donghyuck doesn't reply, so Mark very stubbornly rubs the sleepiness off his eyes and blinks several times before sitting up on his bed. He finds Donghyuck sitting by his desk, already clad in designer from head to toe instead of his usual sweats and sleepshirt — no, not already. _Still_ , judging by the tired look on his face as he leans over the desk, scribbling something over a textbook. 

Aside from having serious anger issues from time to time — he's gotta be on something, Mark thinks, but he also doubts that Doyoung or Renjun would approve of it, so he either doesn't know or Donghyuck is naturally like that —, Donghyuck isn't as dark and brooding as he looked like at the beginning. When he's not near Jaemin or Jeno, he's lighthearted and good at keeping conversations, although he's taken a liking in teasing Mark for literally anything. Mark has told him to fuck off multiple times and he hasn't dropped it, so he guesses they're on the way to becoming friends.

Mark is not used to having _friends_ , — he's only ever had Mina, but their friendship now relies on video calls once in a full moon and sharing Exy articles —, but doesn't let it get to his head. "Did you spend the night out?" he asks in a careful tone, because as friendly as Donghyuck can be, he doesn't like people prying. They have that in common. 

"Yeah, I went out with my girl," he replies vaguely, closing a thick textbook and pushing it further onto the desk. When he's not being a goalkeeper, Donghyuck majors in Marine Biology, and even though the term doesn't start for a whole other month, he's been studying every day. "I might crash later, though, so go find something to do. You're too loud."

"You won't be late for the press conference, I hope."

"I enjoy the idea as much as you do, dude, so sorry for ruining your beauty sleep or whatever," he mutters quietly, going through his notes at high speed. "You'll thank me later, Jeno's been searching for you and I'm tired of his voice already, so you should see him soon. Have you seen my oceanography textbook? It's, like, this big and very blue."

Mark wants to tell him to chill, for fuck's sake, it's not even eight in the morning yet, but only shakes his head negatively before getting up and heading for his dresser. 

There's a knock on the door by the time he steps out of the shower and several others as he brushes his teeth, so he half expects Jeno to have left already when he steps out of the room. To his surprise, it's not Jeno that he finds as he closes the door behind himself.

"Hello, pretty," Jaemin smiles, his head cocked to the side. "It took you so long, I almost went in there to get you, but I'm currently detoxing from Donghyuck. Sure you understand."

"What do you want?"

"Jeno sent me to fetch you," he claps his hands together. "We're going shopping!"

Mark stares at him suspiciously. He's sure that the last thing any of them want to do right now is go shopping together. "Why?"

Jaemin taps a finger against his bottom lip, sizing him up from head to toe. Mark shifts uncomfortably in his feet, suddenly hyper aware of his jeans and faded shirt. While most of the Foxes — him included — favor comfort over style, Jaemin's gang settles for what looks straight out of New York Fashion Week. Mark knows what he's going to say, and he already hates it.

"You've been rotating the same eight outfits for a month. You're far from poor, judging by where you went to rehab, so I keep wondering why you enjoy looking like a hobo. Are you running away from home, pretty? It's not a smart move to sign to the same team as Jeno if you're trying to stay out of sight."

Mark opens his mouth, then closes it, not wanting to get ahead of himself. While he's definitely not running away from home, he's not planning to come back, either. 

"How— you don't _know_ me."

"Oh, that's right, I don't," Jaemin slaps the heel of his palm against his temple, as if something obvious has just occurred to him. "But Google does. Did you know they leaked your medical report when you OD'ed? Oh, you can find _anything_ on the internet these days, pretty."

Mark does, in fact, but he doesn't like Jaemin knowing that. His hands curl into fists instinctively, and Jaemin smiles, clapping his hands as he says: "Well, let's go, then, as I can't waste my entire day on you."

When Jaemin starts walking to the elevator and doesn't look back to see if he's behind him, Mark spares a glance at Renjun's door. He doesn't ever want to be Jaemin's dress up doll for a day, but crying about it to the captain isn't a pleasing idea either. With a sigh, Mark follows, but makes a detour to the staircase. The idea of being trapped inside a metal box with Jaemin is unbearable.

They meet where the Maserati is parked. Jaemin opens the door to the backseat with an exaggerated flourish and once Mark is inside, closes it carelessly with a loud bang. He's regretting this so much.

"Hello!" Yangyang exclaims from the driver seat, smiling brightly at Mark. He's got shades on and a ridiculously pink shirt — what is it with morning people, anyway. Mark is so annoyed that he finds himself relating to the way Jeno is snoring softly against the car's window, in front of him. "Did you sleep well, Mark?"

"You could say so," he replies. Yangyang offers him a sympathetic look.

Jaemin slides into the backseat with him, humming along to the radio under his breath. Again, what is it with all of them? Mark turns his whole body to the window and pretends to be awfully interested in watching the Fox Tower. The sound of the Maserati's tires squealing against the hot asphalt will be engraved in his mind for the rest of the ride.

🦊

It takes an hour to get to the mall, and Mark doesn't know why he expected anything different. At the entrance, Jeno tells him to find something to wear to the press conference and disappears inside an Exy equipment store, with Yangyang following close. Mark pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs before getting to his task.

Jaemin doesn't ditch him to take a look at rackets and gear, but it's not like Mark is glad that he didn't. Jaemin follows him around silently like a vulture, like he's expecting him to drop dead in the middle of the mall, and when Mark tries to buy a shirt, he slaps it away from his hands and onto the floor.

"Don't be silly, that's ugly," he says, fingers curling around his wrist as he pulls Mark onto the next store. Mark tries to pull away and can't, tries to disentangle Jaemin's fingers with his own and can't, so he gives up. "Tell me, though, what are your parents like? My mom's an angel, and I am legally prohibited from being near my father. Do you have any family scandals worth my time?" 

Mark's heart skips a beat. Essentially, it's not like his father tried to murder anyone or something like that — he was just a very ambitious man with a pathological money problem; he couldn't get enough of it, even when he didn't have what to offer in exchange of it. _Especially_ then. He's done with people associating the two of them; he doesn't want Jaemin prying into that.

"That's none of your business," he's able to reply. Jaemin lets go of him when they reach an area full of dress shirts that are soft to the touch. "Or anyone else's, for that matter."

Jaemin scoffs as he raises a shirt for Mark to see. He grimaces, and Jaemin delicately puts it back on the display. "Silly, why would _anyone_ care if you have a secret or two? The Foxes are full of embarrassing family stories. I'm sure Lucas can top anything you come up with."

Mark doesn't reply. He stands there with his hands on his pockets and waits for Jaemin to be done with his makeover session, but he's barely begun — clothes are stupid, anyway. Overpriced, underpaid fast fashion that people care about too much. When he voices that thought to Jaemin, Jaemin laughs as if he's a comedian as he pushes Mark inside a spacious changing room, many pieces in his arms.

"You can't stay here," Mark deadpans as soon as Jaemin plops down in a cushioned seat. 

Jaemin clicks his tongue, handing out a shirt to him. "Don't worry, I'm not shy. I think you should go with sober tones, this shade of blue might work."

Shaking his head in disbelief, Mark steps away from him and turns around — the changing room is big enough, he doesn't need to look at Jaemin more than he needs to. He's not shy about changing in front of other people, but it takes him a while to work up the courage to take off his tee. 

The first shirt is a tight fit, he hates the color of the second, and as he's trying out the third, Jaemin says: "You know, you have a cute face. I think the high cheekbones are a charm. Why do you try to blend in, pretty?"

"I'm not trying to do anything," he replies. "I'm just a guy."

"Just a guy," Jaemin echoes. "Funny guy, what a guy, Mark Lee."

The way he says it, the name rolls off his tongue like he has never said something like it, and Mark realizes Jaemin has never called him by his name before. Not to his face, at least, and even now, it doesn't feel like a name. It's like a secret and he's savoring his only chance of saying it. Mark stares at him through the mirror as he buttons the burgundy shirt. 

Jaemin cocks his head to the side, grinning: "See something you like, pretty?"

"Don't call me that."

"I've been calling you that for some time now, though?"

"And I just decided that I don't like it," Mark replies. He raises his arms and the sleeves of the shirt are tight on his shoulders, making him look like a moron. It's stupid anyway, this and the press conference and Jaemin. "And I don't like this shirt either. Can you find me something that doesn't make me look like an idiot?"

He could walk out and do it himself, but Jaemin does as he's told. He comes back with another selection of shirts and some slacks as well, which he doesn't try on. Mark doesn't understand the point of making an impression — the media already thinks all of them are trouble. Cute clothes won't make any difference.

"Tell me, though," Jaemin hums at some point. He'd been playing a game on his phone, looking up from time to time to make a silly comment that had Mark rolling his eyes. "Something about yourself. Any secrets worth my time?"

Mark wonders if he does it on purpose, if he repeats himself on purpose, it makes him doubt every conversation they have because he can't make a solid memory of it — he shakes his head negatively and starts unbuttoning the shirt carefully. It's a beautiful piece, a floral black shirt, but he's never worn anything like this before and he feels like an idiot; he won't be taking it home. 

"I'll tell you something," he replies. "I want to go back to the dorms. I'll just borrow something from Yangyang for the press conference."

Through the mirror, Jaemin grimaces, and he snatches the shirt from Mark's hold and runs his fingers through the fabric. "What a waste," he muses. "I thought it looked so good on you, pretty."

Mark returns the rest of the clothes to the clerk, thanking her, and doesn't look back to see if Jaemin is following him outside the store. He slips past groups of teenagers and young adults that crowd the mall amidst their summer shopping sprees and steps outside, sighing loudly as the sun licks his skin hot and unbearable. Waiting in the car would be a stupid decision, it must feel like hell inside, so he heads to the equipment store instead. 

Nevertheless, it's ridiculous how everything related to Exy makes him feel. The taut muscles of his shoulders relax instantly as he walks inside, that characteristic smell of new equipment filling his lungs — when Mark was a child, his mother would take him shopping to places like this. Of course, it was mainly in search of her own equipment, and she'd point at the things she needed and he would retrieve them for her as she pushed the shopping cart. There were very few things that made Mark happier than to carry around rackets bigger than him, pressing them to his small chest, happily walking through the different aisles as he followed her around.

For once, the memory doesn't leave a sour taste on his tongue — he savours it until he finds Yangyang trying out different helmets.

"Oh, hi!" the younger greets him with a big smile, but then it fades away as he tilts his head to the side. "Where are your clothes?"

"I didn't buy anything," Mark replies vaguely, distracted by the newest line of his favorite brand. He hooks his fingers on the grid of a helmet and pulls it from the shelf to inspect it, thumbs rubbing over the red paint. When he played for the Scorpions, he wore a lot of red — admittedly, even though the orange hurts his eyes most of the time, he likes it better. "Do you have a shirt I can borrow? For the press conference?"

Yangyang smiles again: "Yes, I do!"

Now Mark is going to look ridiculous, but it's better than to ask Donghyuck. He lets Yangyang drag him across the store because he likes this and that, he wants to buy this and that, and Mark has to remind him that all of them have custom-made gear for a lifetime, but he, too, spends an awful long time weighing out different rackets.

They find Jeno on practically every aisle, face for a top notch brand, and even though the ads shouldn't have been made not earlier than a year ago, he looks like an entirely different person. When Jeno was a Raven, he carried himself with the confidence of a king, and even though he is still just as impossible to be around, Mark is starting to see the cracks in his battle armor. He looks from a big panel at the back of the store to where he'd found Jeno admiring a black and red shirt, sitting on a bench.

In a sense, Jeno is simultaneously an unprepared child and a well trained celebrity. He lets that slip as he lets his defenses down when he thinks no one is looking; this is someone who's never learned to love anything that wasn't Exy, and since Mark shares the sentiment, he stops looking at the panel and walks closer to Jeno, sitting by the edge of the bench.

Jeno straightens his back, soft-looking face gone in a second as he looks at him, and conveniently drops the shirt by the side of his body that Mark cannot see. But Mark is not stupid, he's seen the name and the number printed on the back. 

"Where is Jaemin?" Jeno asks, voice strained. Mark wants to tell him that people might judge him for leaving his mother's team behind, but he doesn't. Maybe he did once, but not anymore, but Mark knows better than to try and have a heart to heart with Jeno. "Did you buy something for yourself? You can't possibly think—"

"Yangyang will let me borrow something. I don't know where Jaemin is."

Somehow, Jeno looks both relieved and concerned at the same time, if it's possible — he gets up and leaves the shirt on the bench; Mark takes one last look at the number 23 for the Edgar Allan Ravens, T-I-N-A printed in bold white letters right above a raven with open wings. Mark has never seen one of those shirts in person — they're always sold out in every store. He figures the clerk must have given it to Jeno as soon as he walked in, his mother's shirt is Exy's most precious heirloom.

Mark follows him back to the front of the store — Jeno makes him carry a package of new practice balls and a stash of cones to the counter and pays for them with the team's card; he's the only one that Doyoung allows near the thing. 

"Oh, finally," Jaemin says as Mark opens the door to the backseat. He's got his knees pulled to his chest, sneakers thrown on the floor of the car and a bucket of pretzel dog bites by his side. Mark rolls his eyes — it's barely nine yet. _He_ has yet to eat breakfast, but shakes his head negatively when Jaemin offers him some. "Hey, pretty, can you get something in the trunk of the car for me? It's a cream-colored, velvety package."

"You're perfectly capable of doing that yourself."

Jaemin raises his hands, fingers greasy from his snack. "I don't want to get my baby dirty. Would you do that for me?"

Rolling his eyes, Mark turns around in his seat as Yangyang starts the car and takes off. Mark watches the mall becoming smaller and smaller at the distance before he kneels on the backseat and leans over to search for Jaemin's package in the middle of an infinity of others — Yangyang had a blast, apparently. Blindly searching for it with his hands, his fingers brush against something akin to velvet and grabs a handful, but as he pulls it from among the other bags, it falls apart in his hands, revealing a familiar piece of clothing.

He looks back at Jaemin, holding onto the floral black shirt from before, and Jaemin looks up at him with clear disinterest. "Told you it was such a waste," he says. "And Yangyang's clothes are hideous, anyway."

Yangyang protests from the driver seat, sending Jaemin a dirty look through the rearview mirror as Mark settles back into his seat once more. He runs his fingers through the smooth fabric of the button up, not daring to look at Jaemin's face or thank him properly.

He hasn't gotten a gift in ages. If anything, the last time someone bought something for him was Mina treating him to McDonald's when he got discharged — although the Scorpions have made a habit out of it with every other player, Mark never let any of them buy him birthday or Christmas gifts. And now, well, now Jaemin has bought him a shirt that he liked, and Mark has no idea why. He's tempted to refuse it, but if Jaemin is a pain even when he's doing something nice, he doesn't want to step on his toes any further.

They stop by a gas station still a few miles from the dorm, and Yangyang pushes his sunglasses higher on the bridge of his nose as he looks back at Jaemin. "I paid for gas last time."

"I only have the team's card and Doyoung doesn't even approve that we take this car," Jeno says immediately. He'd been reading a magazine that Jaemin threw at him as soon as he entered the car.

Jaemin turns to Mark with a sickenly sweet smile. "Would you mind paying, pretty? I forgot my wallet back at the dorms."

Mark nods as he reaches for the door handle — he's still fairly surprised by the impromptu gift, can't bring himself to be difficult right now. He greets the cashier and goes on as usual, buys gum for himself and it's only when he's considering buying a sandwich that he makes sense of Jaemin's words.

He's so fucking stupid. Mark pinches the bridge of his nose as he collects his change and goes back to the car, ignoring Yangyang's try on small talk as he walks past him and returns to his seat, turning to Jaemin immediately.

"I don't need you stealing things for me," he says. "I can pay for them. I've had enough law problems for a lifetime, Jaemin."

"I thought you liked the shirt?"

Mark looks down at said object in between them, elegantly folded just like it was back at the store — he didn't do this. He eyes Jaemin suspiciously: "I did. But I could've bought it."

"But you didn't."

"I could have."

"And you didn't."

He gets startled when Yangyang starts the car once more — suddenly, Mark is reminded that he's not alone with Jaemin. He settles back in his seat and buckles his seatbelt, and Jaemin chuckles as he taps his knees to the beat of the song Yangyang just put on. "You can thank me," he says. "It doesn't have to be now, but you're free to do so any time. It's what polite people do, pretty."

"You'll soon learn I am not polite," Mark tells him. Jeno lets out a laugh under his breath and Mark stares at the back of his head for the rest of the ride just so that he won't have to look at Jaemin.

🦊

While Mark would deeply enjoy not doing it, Doyoung invites him to watch the press conference at the stadium's foyer three days later. Which means, naturally, that he's obliged to, so instead of riding with the others, he walks all the way to the Foxhole Court just to be late for it.

"You're very late," Doyoung points out when he walks into the tiny room. For such an ambitious architectural project such as that stadium, their foyer is ridiculous — Mark has noticed it on the first time he was here, but right now, he's annoyed. He raises his eyebrows at the coach, and Doyoung waves a TV remote for him to see. "It's a good thing I recorded it, no?"

"What would we do without you, coach?" Mark mutters as he tries not to trip over Donghyuck's feet. 

The room is so small and the furniture is so weirdly put together, the only couch occupied by Yangyang, Dejun and Guanheng, their legs pulled to their chests so that others can sit on the floor — Mark maneuvers himself through Donghyuck and Lucas, and can't help but messing Renjun's hair when he walks past him. The captain sighs audibly. 

"Why, hello, Mark. Just take a seat already."

The armchairs are taken by Jeno and Jaemin. Mark stands on the corner of the room because he doesn't want to sit in front of any of them, but Doyoung sends him a dirty look because, apparently, he really wants them to watch the press conference. It's as if they weren't there in the first place.

Jaemin looks up at him — he's the one sitting the closest, originally spread out on the armchair like a king on a throne, but he pulls his knees to his chest and motions for the space in front of him with a smile.

He's crazy if he thinks Mark is going to sit there. He settles for sitting beside Jaemin's spot, even if his sight is compromised. Doyoung sighs as he presses play and Mark ignores a good portion of it — the press conference was a bore. He's always hated doing that and the coach for the Arizona Scorpions was nice enough to say he didn't need to participate even when he was part of the lineup, but Doyoung wouldn't be as nice when there are only nine people in the team.

The Foxes are funny, he's come to realize. They make snarky remarks about every journalist, they know the worst ones by name already — the ones that target them the most, the ones that find it funny to push at their buttons in the most horrible ways. "I hate Jefferson, he's a dick," Lucas comments. "Donghyuck, you could try to punch him again so that he stops making stupid questions."

"I am not our security guard," Donghyuck replies, although after a while, he adds: "Yeah, well, now that I'm thinking about it..."

Doyoung clears his throat: "Don't even get me started."

The goalkeeper stays silent. Mark rests his chin on the arm of the chair, trying to see the TV better — they got a huge, huge LED screen, he can't wait to watch a game someday. The reporters are now asking about this year's lineup, a lot of them ask about Jeno but Doyoung promptly ignores each of them, since they have given multiple interviews on it. When it is time to introduce Mark as a new striker, Yangyang coos: 

"There he goes!"

It's humiliating. They cheer for him — well, Jeno doesn't, he just sighs audibly and Mark is thankful for that, even if he's a prick. 

Mark has to close his eyes and try to filter out the sound of his own voice, but opens then again when he feels a particularly strong tug at his arm. He doesn't realize Jaemin is trying to make him sit by Renjun's side until he registers the unfamiliar hand wrapped around his biceps, and immediately reaches out with his own to untangle Jaemin's fingers from him.

He doesn't want to attract attention to them — Jaemin is _such_ a tool for putting him through this —, but Mark can't help but snarl: "Don't touch me."

It's the first time he sees Jaemin's movements stuttering, and he feels bad immediately, all the discomfort dissipating in order to make room for something he doesn't have a name for. Guilt, probably, but it stings more than that. He watches as Jaemin raises his hands in surrender and curls his hands over his own lap, expression unreadable as he looks down at Mark.

If the others notice, no one comments about it, though Mark catches Jeno's eyes staring at him and stares back until the latter turns to the TV once more.

The rest is a blur. Doyoung makes few comments on what they should expect from now on; Mark is not a star player, so most of the interest in him has to do with the fact that his medical report got leaked, and everyone wants to know more about the newest junkie on the lineup. Renjun gets up to talk about practice schedules once the term begins, mentions something about game plans, Mark has no idea. He's out of the room as soon as the captain says "goodnight".

As he's used to, Mark decides to jog back to the dorms instead of catching a ride with Donghyuck. He pushes open the main gate — after much insistence, Doyoung gave him spare keys for the court so that he wouldn't have to rely on Jeno all the time — and savors a breath of fresh air.

He hears Jaemin before he sees him — normally, Mark would ignore the way he singsongs Mark's name, trying to get his attention, but something makes him turn around. Jaemin waves at him from where he's standing by the gate before he locks it, and jogs in Mark's direction lazily.

Mark turns around before he catches up fully, but doesn't miss the way Jaemin reaches out to hold onto his shoulder. The action is aborted halfway, caught dead in its tracks, and Mark realizes he's holding his breath as Jaemin pulls away.

"Just ask first," he says in lieu of a greeting. Jaemin nods with a tight lipped smile, and Mark wonders if they're going to walk together back to the dorm.

They probably are. He's never seen Jaemin walk _anywhere_ , but he takes the lead and looks back at Mark with raised eyebrows, as if he doesn't understand why he isn't following.

It's a long, long walk back to the Fox tower. Mark is used to being alone at ungodly hours when he's heading to the dorms, it's almost muscle memory to him now, but something about Jaemin's presence makes him wary of every tree, every pebble in the way. Mark, well, Mark isn't used to looking at him — if anything, he tries to avoid it. Jeno might be the star player for the team, but whenever Jaemin is around, all eyes naturally wander to him for multiple reasons; but where the others are always trying to see when he's going to move, what he's going to do, Mark simply likes observing. He doesn't let himself do that a lot, but under the moonlight, it seems like a good time.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out, and it surprises him more than it does to Jaemin. 

The latter asks: "For what, pretty?"

Whatever urge made Mark do that is gone now, and he swallows dry as Jaemin looks back at him with curious eyes. "For speaking to you like that," he replies. "It just—" Mark sighs, looking away. He can't believe he's doing this. "I don't like it when people touch me without a warning. It makes me uncomfortable, and it makes me mad because people don't think about it before doing it."

Jaemin is uncharacteristically quiet, hands shoved inside the pockets of his track pants, and for a moment Mark thinks that he simply did not hear it. But he clears his throat after a while and says: "I get it. Touching needs consent every time. My apologies."

Mark nods, and when Jaemin turns his back to him, he adds: "But I am sorry, still, because I didn't think before I spoke. Didn't consider how you'd react to it."

The other looks at him over his shoulder. "It's cute that you think you can get a reaction out of me," he says, but Mark knows what he saw. They resume walking in silence, all the lights from the Fox Tower now visible in the distance. 

🦊

"You should work on your passes."

"Well, it's not my fault you can't catch, Jeno."

Yangyang inhales a sharp breath by Mark's side and steps away when Jeno steps forward. Objectively speaking, Mark is not afraid of him, but he couldn't move even if he wanted to — he's so tired, he's afraid that if he moves he'll crumble to the floor. When Jeno is close enough, he hooks his fingers around the grid of Mark's helmet and pulls him closer, until their helmets touch. "I'm going to have you benched for the entire season," he says. "You're tired before we even began."

It is a lie, a blatant one — everyone is tired, and they've been at this for two hours already. Jeno lets go of him with a shove that sends Mark back a few steps, and he resists the urge to simply strangle him. Instead, Mark looks up at the clock on the scoreboard. It's almost eleven, and he drops his gaze to where Jaemin is standing on the other side of the court, leaning against his racket as he speaks to Lucas.

Admittedly, of all friendships that could've sprung out of such weird combination as the Foxes, this might be the strangest, one that Mark wouldn't have expected. When Jeno knocked on his door after dinner and demanded that Mark went to practice with him, he didn't expect to find Lucas waiting with Jaemin by the stadium's gates, chatting like they were old friends.

"Mark," Jeno calls, out of a sudden, snapping him out of his daze. "Go back to the locker room and grab cones."

"How many?"

Jeno sighs — he thinks Mark is an idiot. Well, Mark thinks he's a stuck up prick, so he doesn't bother in the slightest. "Twelve. Hurry up."

When he's done, he watches as Jeno sets them each up in two lines of six, spacing them out in the inner ring. Mark has no idea what this is supposed to be, he shares a look with Yangyang as the latter chugs down a water bottle, and he makes a cut-throat motion with his free hand. When Jeno claps his hands, Yangyang immediately starts moving, mimicked by Lucas, so Mark watches as they stand by Jeno's side. Jaemin hits the button at the end of the wall closest to his goal so that the doors will open and he can leave.

"You're going to rebound the ball from the court walls and knock the cones over in whatever order I tell you," Jeno explains, finally. "Lucas will show you how. Yang, you can go."

As Yangyang punches the air, victorious, Lucas approaches him near the opposite goal with a kind smile on his face. He's great, Mark's learned to realize, always asking if Mark wants to tag along for dinner or if he needs anything from the stores downtown, and though he has a habit of getting ahead of himself while playing, he's really good. He makes space for Lucas to move freely on the inner ring.

Jeno clears his throat: "Seven, two, five, twelve, nine, three..."

Mark has never seen a drill like this; naturally, Lucas is not the best striker in the world, but he's _really_ good. He manages to knock over nine out of twelve cones, and he's not free from Jeno's criticism, which makes Mark feel a little better. He watches as Lucas disappears out of court and into the locker room, leaving the both of them alone inside.

He helps Jeno organize the cones once more, and then Jeno leans against the goal to watch him this time.

It's a stupid thing, anyway, Mark thinks as he positions himself where Jeno wants him, and takes a deep breath before he starts moving. While playing Exy, it's only natural to use the walls to your advantage, to pass and receive without risking getting body-checked by other players. But rebounds are used with actual living people who are able to read the game and know what you're going to do, not inanimate objects such as cones.

It shouldn't be as hard as it is. Jeno has insanely high demands and he has no means to rely on a player's height, on a player's arm's reach — it takes Mark five tries before Jeno sighs audibly, and Mark turns to him: "What's your problem with me?"

"This is a Raven drill," Jeno replies, resting his racket over his shoulder as he walks over to him. "We're not allowed to play until we learn how to knock over all cones in whatever order the coach tells us to. Freshmen fight tooth and nail to make it to the lineup like this, most of them can't. I want you to do that even in your sleep."

Mark nods, though sighing. He can't trust Jeno not to let him play until he's mastered it, given that they have three strikers on the lineup — there's no other option for him. "So show me," he asks. "Show me how you did it back then."

Jeno tilts his head to the side — whenever they have night practices, it's mostly Jeno wanting them to do stuff while he watches and corrects. Yangyang has told him countless times that Jeno enjoys practicing alone with Jaemin, when no one's around, and it isn't the same thing as when the entire team is practicing. Mark doesn't get his hopes high, but then Jeno nods.

"Tell me the order."

Mark feels almost relieved. He doesn't put much thought in it, tells him what comes to mind, and doesn't need to finish saying the numbers out loud for Jeno to move. He collects a ball with a flick of his wrist and sends it like a bullet against one of the walls, and then does it again, and again, and again, until each cone is knocked over on the floor. If he can play like this with his bad hand, Mark can't even fathom the idea of seeing him at his best.

He'll be caught dead before he admits it, but when Mark watches Jeno play, he's reminded why he loves Exy this much. The rest of the Foxes, they're great, but there is only one player who mirrors Mark's enthusiasm for the sport, and he's standing in front of him right now, catching his breath. He's knocked the last cone over so hard that it hit the opposite wall. 

"I want that," Mark tells him. "Give it to me."

Jeno takes his helmet off to brush the back of his hand on his forehead and looks back at him, an unreadable expression on his face. "Give your game to me first," he replies. 

"What do you mean?"

"You can't get there on your own, so give your game to me. Stop making my life difficult and _learn_ from me. Do you want it?"

He doesn't need to say where for Mark to understand. He knows where "there" is. "There" is going pro, "there" is becoming Court, "there" is what Mark has been dreaming of ever since he was big enough to hold a racket, when his mother would take him to play little league Exy with her colleagues' children. His chest feels heavy with how much he wants it, and though Jeno isn't offering it to him on a silver plate, he didn't think he'd ever be able to get it after being discharged from rehab — Mark has to remind himself that he can take it if he wants to. It is at arm's reach, all that's left for him to do is reach out. 

"I do," he replies. 

Jeno puts his helmet on again, motioning for him to come closer. "Then come take it," he says, and starts organizing the cones for him.

You see, hope is a very dangerous word, but Mark thinks that perhaps he likes it. 

🦊

When August comes around, Mark has to enroll with the freshmen — it takes him an awfully long time to come up with a schedule that won't clash with practice. Doyoung reminds him about five times a day that he won't condone low grades, but Mark doesn't even care about this major anyway; he doesn't enroll in any extra class, just the minimum credit for the year.

Admittedly, he spends most of his time with Lucas's clique. He doesn't know how it happens, but it does. One day Dejun asks him if he wants to grab a coffee and they spend the day inside a music store near campus — Mark remembers telling his parents he wanted to play guitar, as a child, but they said it was either that or Exy, so he's mesmerized when Dejun tells him he can play most of the instruments they find —, and the next thing he knows, he's hanging out in his and Lucas' room. Guanheng tags along all the time, they play video games, Lucas shows him a gazillion pictures of his dog, Bella, almost every day, and it tastes like friendship. Mark savors it a lot.

At some point, Doyoung tells him he can't postpone his session with the team's therapist any longer, and Mark dreads the car ride to the medical center. Lucas drops him off and tells him to call when he's done, as caring as ever. 

John Seo isn't as bad as Mark thought he would — from what he heard, the guy must be an angel. Donghyuck, who's, well, _Donghyuck_ , absolutely loves him, and Mark trusts his judgement a little bit more by now. He explains that it's mandatory they meet a few times during the semester, but he's free to drop by whenever he feels like it — Mark won't, ever —, and asks the obvious: about himself and his time during rehab. 

He's been over this so many times, his replies are automatic.

"You don't look very happy to be here," the therapist points out. He's asked Mark to call him Johnny and he's not sure whether he wants to.

Casting a look at the clock on the wall to his left side, Mark sighs: "I'll be honest with you. This is pointless to me. If my mental health wasn't good right now, I wouldn't have left rehab. You can call my therapist back there, his name is on my files. You don't have to analyze me. I am perfectly fine."

Johnny nods along to his words. 

"We're just getting to know each other, Mark." he replies. "I'm here to assist you if you need me, and if you don't want to talk about things, I won't force you. But I think it'd be good for you to open up."

Truth be told, there is something a little unsettling about therapists to Mark — maybe it is the fact that he's spent months doing this, talking to the point he didn't have anything else to talk about, and he's glad to have space to breathe. 

"I'm done talking and even thinking about rehab," he insists. "It's all people think of when they look at me."

"How does that make you feel?"

Mark scoffs: "Don't."

Raising his hands in surrender, Johnny looks at the clock as well — it feels like it's been years since Mark sat on this chair, but they have so much time until he's legally allowed to leave. Johnny rests his hands over the table, fingers intertwined.

"How about you tell me about your family, then?"

Mark takes a deep breath and exhales through his nose. It's better just to do it now and forget about it later. "Born in Toronto, only child. My parents were each other's first everything, my mom's an angel and I haven't spoken to or seen my father since I was around sixteen. Can you release me early and we'll never mention it to Doyoung? I won't rat you out."

"Why don't you talk to your father?" Johnny asks instead, and Mark ignores him for a long five minutes before he adds: "What about your mother?"

Mark sighs. He looks over to a bookshelf where Johnny keeps plants and portraits, and spots a set of pictures of the Foxes. So he's fond of them after all.

"She played, too," he replies eventually. Talking about his mother is never a burden to Mark, he just doesn't know where to begin most of the time. "She was just finishing college and already working at her father's engineering company, and she just left it all behind to play. We moved to New York because she got signed by a major league team and stayed there for a few years."

"You got your love for Exy from her, then. Will she be attending your first game?"

Mark shakes his head negatively. "No, she can't. She, um— she has Alzheimer's, you know. She lives in a care center back in Toronto because that's where most of her family is, and she can't leave. So, no, she won't be coming."

They both stay silent for a while — when Mark grows tired of looking at Johnny's eyes, he starts picking at the loose strands of his ripped jeans. He has no idea what's got in him, it surprises him when his voice says: "She started showing symptoms of it when I was very little, but I guess she tried to hide it not to alarm my father and I, but it didn't last long."

"How so?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he looks up at him. "When your mom forgets to pick you up at school so many times, people start noticing something has changed. That and, well, you know the drill, the oven is on fire and I'm the eight year old who has to explain to the firefighters that my mom didn't mean to leave me locked in a house in flames because she went to the shop down the street."

"Did your father not take care of you?"

Mark scoffs. "No, he was too busy working. Or something. That's what he always said."

"What was he like?"

Closing his eyes for a second, Mark pictures his father's face. They're, well, they're one and the same on the outside — same high cheekbones, same nose, same mouth. Mark had put himself through a lifetime of hair dye and piercings during his adolescence to get rid of that resemblance, yet it was settled in his bones. 

"An asshole. When I told him my mom was forgetting things, he said it was normal for women to be so air headed. Can you fucking believe—" he takes a deep breath. "He's a piece of shit. Their marriage had always been in shambles, and I don't think he ever visited her when she was first admitted to a care center, in case you're wondering."

"Is that why you stopped talking to him?"

Mark shifts in his seat, pulling so hard at a loose strand on his jeans that it rips the material even further. "He didn't care about any of us. He fucked up at work, got sued to hell and back and blamed it on everyone else but his own shit work ethics, and when my mom needed him the most, he was too busy trying to clean his name. When _I_ needed him—"

He stops himself short. God, what is he doing? Mark and the man in front of him have known each other for forty minutes. He's _so_ —

"I am way over my daddy issues, I swear," he tells Johnny, which earns him a chuckle in response. "It's just that he gets on my nerves. I thought he'd learn how to be a father after my mom was admitted, but I was a fool for setting the bar so high."

Johnny nods. "You didn't like living with him?"

"I barely lived with him. As I said, he worked a lot. I was alone most of the time—" Mark clicks his tongue, eyes fixed somewhere on the window behind the therapist. This is the same medical center where he had his appointment with Irene, and he can see all that bright blue sky extending for miles and miles. He takes a deep breath. "We lived in an apartment and our neighbour would look after me, like, sometimes. She'd bring food and such, but most of the time I took care of myself. You eventually learn how to."

While he doesn't ask, Mark adds: "I don't know why she stuck with him for so long. Maybe she forgot how to leave. We moved to Santa Fe and she got medical care there, too. But my father wanted to move to Sacramento and her sisters thought that it was a terrible idea, so they had her moving back to Toronto and I stayed with him."

"You moved a lot from place to place. Did you finish high school in Sacramento?" Mark nods. "You said you haven't seen your father since you were sixteen. How did all that work out?"

Mark rubs a hand against his face. He's sure he hasn't spoken this much about his family in ages, and it feels weird as it feels liberating. He's never going to see Johnny again after this, so why not?

"I convinced him to emancipate me. He was more than glad to do so."

"How did you fend for yourself?"

"My grandfather helped me out," he shrugs. "He wanted me to move back to Toronto with the rest of the family but I said I wanted to play Exy here. He—" Mark purses his lips, looking away from Johnny's face. "He helps me out with money and those things, still. He says he regrets not supporting my mom when she decided to play."

"Do you talk to him a lot?"

He nods. "From time to time. Haven't seen him since I was a kid, though. He's— they're a gem. All of them, they're good people. They take really good care of my mom."

"I assume you haven't seen her in a long time. What do you think of it?"

Mark wants to tell him that she wouldn't _remember_ him, but Johnny decides to take one more look at the clock and raises both eyebrows in surprise. "Oh, would you look at the time," he says, and Mark lets out a sigh in relief. "I have another appointment now, but remember you're free to come back whenever you want, alright? It was really good to talk to you, Mark."

He gets up quickly, brushing the imaginary dust off his pants and wondering if he's supposed to shake Johnny's hand or something. Mark settles for fishing a mint chocolate bar from a glass bowl on top of Johnny's table and nods at him.

"I'll get going. Sorry for the rambling."

"You don't need to be—"

He doesn't hear the rest of it, already rushing out of the room. When Mark is back inside Lucas' car, he pulls out his phone immediately to text Doyoung that he doesn't think he'll be going back to Seo's office any soon.

_Worth the try,_ the coach replies. _Don't text me on my personal number unless you're dying._

Worth the try, Mark thinks. He drops the phone to his lap and looks over at Lucas.

"Where's your boyfriend?" Mark asks as he rips the mint chocolate bar open, and Lucas' cheeks blush impossibly red. 

He clears his throat, eyes on the road. Lucas drives a red Chevy pickup that is the biggest car Mark's has ever seen — he's sure it can easily run over Donghyuck's Mercedes like it's a kid's toy —, and he's terribly protective of it. "We're picking Guanheng and him up from Home Depot, Heng wanted to buy a new chair. Do you need something?"

Donghyuck has decorated and furnished most parts of their room before Mark even got to campus — Mark didn't contribute with a lot when he moved. He didn't want to bother shipping the furniture he bought when he lived with Hyunjin and just told him to sell everything. It doesn't really matter for him.

The other Foxes' rooms are terribly like them, though, and it's funny to see — Lucas has a cork board filled with pictures of his friends and family, concert tickets, newspapers excerpts that talk about the Foxes, and Dejun has movie posters on his wall, at least three electric guitars, and fairy lights above his bed. Their room is the coziest, comfortable couch and cushions sprawled on the floor, and there is always something good to eat.

Renjun is more reserved, but he has drawings on his walls and enamel pins all over his backpack, and he has drawn all over his shoes — in an attempt to make small talk, Mark asks him if he'd ever personalize some sneakers for him, and Renjun was more than happy to say yes. Guanheng is, well, a mess, and his side of the room is a mess, and he has a crazy collection of sci-fi books, comics and movies, and every time Mark makes the mistake of mentioning it, he goes on for hours about this movie in which giant robots fight giant robots or something of the likes. Mark promised him he'd watch it someday, but he doesn't remember what it was called.

He has never been to the three others' room, and neither does he intend to, but Mark looks at their door with the corner of his eye when he's helping Dejun carry a box containing a bean bag chair to his room. 

"So," Dejun asks him, raising one perfect eyebrow in Mark's direction. "How's it going, the late night practices with Jeno? You're… Different when you play. Good different, of course. I couldn't help but notice."

He knows he is, but something about Dejun noticing feels a little weird. Mark didn't know how much the Raven techniques would help him— well, he did, but he never thought he'd have it after his father's little incident. He tries to brush that thought off and offers Dejun a shy smile.

"Sometimes, when I go to sleep, I see the orange of the seats inside the Foxhole Court with my eyes closed," he tells him, and Dejun lets out a loud laugh as he kicks the door to the room open. 

When they pull the bean bag chair out of the box, Dejun throws himself over it immediately. He scratches lazily over the scars on his inner left wrist, and when he catches himself doing it, looking up at him, Mark leans in to inspect Lucas' corkboard.

"Who took this one?" he asks, pointing at a picture of Dejun, Guanheng and Yangyang lying on the trunk of Lucas' pickup, shades on and big smiles on their faces. It is different from the other pictures, looks like it was taken on film.

Dejun squints his eyes, then eventually gives up and gets up to see better. He lets out a small chuckle. "Oh, it was Jaemin. I liked it, so he gave it to me."

"He takes pictures?" Mark asks, quite surprised. He tries to hide it in his tone.

"Yeah, he does. Don't know if you noticed, but there are many pictures on the wall above the trophy case back in the foyer. Jaemin took most of them."

Mark has never looked at the wall above the trophy case because he thought it was depressing that said trophy case was empty. Whatever Dejun just said makes no sense in his mind, he can't picture Jaemin casually taking pictures of the Foxes, revealing them and putting them on Doyoung's wall. 

He's… Oddly endeared. Dejun points at another picture on the cork board that's similar to the first one; surprised, Mark realizes it's self-taken, Lucas with his tongue out, Jaemin smiling so big his eyes are closed, and, well, Dejun himself, smiling shyly at the camera.

"We've known each other since high school," Dejun explains. "Jaemin played for a team that crushed ours every time, so we had some rivalry going on. But Lucas can't detest anyone even if he tried really hard, and from my part it was only half hearted. We were really happy to know that Jaemin enrolled here."

Mark is going to regret saying it, but he does it anyway: "So you like him. You like Jaemin."

Somewhere in the bedroom, Lucas shouts at Guanheng to stop trying to ruin his perfectly fine desk, and Dejun sighs to himself, hands on his hips. 

"He can be a real sweetheart if he wants to, I swear. But if you're having problems with him, tell me. I can talk to him."

"I'm not," Mark replies. "I was just curious. He's full of surprises, I guess."

"He sure is. A penny for your thoughts on him?" 

"I don't think about Jaemin."

Dejun raises both eyebrows at him, amused, and Mark ignores him, turning on his heels to head to the door.

"Nice talking to you, Mr. I Don't Think About Jaemin! Are you grabbing dinner with us?"

Mark sighs: "Who else would I eat with, Dejun?" 

🦊

Their first game of the season takes place in a stadium four hours away from home. When Mark takes a look at the team's bus for the first time, he's surprised it isn't entirely orange — much like the walls of the Foxhole Court and Fox Tower, it is white with orange lines and paws painted on it. It looks new, as it is kept locked away from possible cases of vandalism, and instead of the default two rows, the bus has large cushioned seats that could easily be used as napping spots. 

As Doyoung settles for driving and the team's doctor takes the passenger seat, Renjun sits on the front row with Guanheng as they discuss game strategy and which players from the opposite team they simply can't stand; Donghyuck picks a seat entirely for himself and dozes off immediately; Lucas and Dejun curl up to each other on the row behind him, lost in their own little world; and Jaemin's clique settles for the three last rows at the back of the bus. 

Mark plans on making the most out of the trip — he sits down at one of the vacant seats and pulls a baseball cap from his backpack, ready to take the nap of his life, but before he can even think of lying down, a hand fishes the baseball cap out of his hold. He sighs: "Give it back."

"I don't think I will," Jeno replies as he leans over the back of Mark's seat, inspecting the items. "Didn't take you for a Pythons type of guy."

"It was my mother's team," he explains, extending a hand. "Give it back now."

Jeno dutifully does, and Mark feels his chest untighten once the cap is securely back in his hands. "Are you nervous about the game?"

"Aren't you?"

"Answer my question. You seemed distracted during practice yesterday and I need to know where your head is right now."

Mark stares at his face, and Jeno stares right back at him. He is, statistically speaking, fairly handsome — would be far easier on the eyes if he didn't look like you were wasting his time. As soon as Mark's family moved to New York City, around the time he was five, they got on a car ride to West Virginia to visit Castle Evermore, and he remembers Jeno as a bright smiled kid who would hold rackets bigger than him and challenge Mark to a game every time he'd accompany his father to deliver gear. 

Clearly, they didn't need to do this with every client. But those were the Edgar Allen Ravens and his father _wanted_ to be close to them, everybody did. The entirety of the memory is unclear to him, as it always is, but Mark vividly remembers the day Tina Lee said _he_ could try out for the Ravens' little league team if his parents were alright with that. It was _the dream_ —

Mark snaps out of it when Jeno raises an eyebrow at him. "Well?"

"I didn't sleep well," he replies vaguely. "You didn't, either, I see."

Jeno doesn't react to it, but the dark circles under his eyes are pretty much there. 

"I want you to give your best out there," Jeno tells him. "You're in for all of the game so pace yourself, if I sense that you're holding yourself back because you're tired, I'll drag you out of court with my own hands. You can pass out after the game."

"Such encouraging words."

"Don't make me repeat myself. And be careful with your mark, the backliners for the Jackals are not friendly."

"Neither am I, Jeno. Are we done?"

The latter nods, and when he sits back on his seat, Mark lies down and puts the Pythons cap over his face. 

During the brief time that Mark takes a nap, he dreams of being inside Castle Evermore and there are a billion eyes on him. He's awakened by Yangyang's loud laughter and sighs to himself, sitting up to realize they've stopped to get dinner, and stops himself from looking at Jeno for too long as they wait in the ordering queue.

It's insane that he doesn't remember any of it, Mark thinks. It's insane that Mark himself still thinks of it, but he blames it on trauma — if his father didn't ruin his own life by being greedy and selling faulty equipment to the biggest Class I team in the country, Mark could have had it all. They'd have moved to West Virginia and he'd have grown up as Jeno's right hand man, and they would have the _world_.

Mark supposes he was too young to remember the lawsuit. It is more than possible that they didn't even _tell_ Jeno, what difference would it make in his life anyway? _Mark_ was the background character in the story. The few years he spent practicing with the Ravens is insignificant in the grand scheme of things in Jeno's life.

God. The talk with John Seo fucked him up for good, Mark realizes as he brings his tray to the table Guanheng has claimed for them. It unlocked so many memories for him that he feels ashamed to even think about them. He makes a list inside his mind as he chews on his pasta: his father ruined his chance to be a Raven, his father ruined his mother's career even before Alzheimer's could, and apparently his father also ruined his head enough for him to be worrying about it so many years later.

"You look like you're dying," Lucas points out, his mouth full. Guanheng nods at his words, giving Mark a thumbs down as if to emphasize how awful he looks. "You can ask coach to sit out during the first half if you're not feeling well. I can play full time without any problem."

"I'm fine," Mark replies. "Pass me a napkin?"

The rest of the drive to Breckenridge is fine. Mark watches a game with Yangyang on the latter's tablet and tries to ignore Jeno's looming presence on the seat behind them. Here, pressed to Yangyang's side as they watch the something from the last Summer Olympics, he's suddenly reminded that he exists out of the memory of his parents — in just a few hours, he'll be standing in a court for the first time in months. He'll be _playing_ for the first time in months.

This is his life. This is his time. This is about him. When Doyoung parks the bus in the crowded parking lot in front of the Breckenridge Jackals' stadium, Mark inhales a long breath and steps out of it with nothing in his mind but the game.

🦊

"Is everyone here?" Doyoung asks once they're inside the locker room. He taps a pen against his clipboard repeatedly, muttering under his breath as he counts to see if all are present. Not that it is that difficult, given they're only nine. Once Doyoung is satisfied, he announces: "Our first game of the season, Foxes. We didn't drive for four hours to go home to lick our wounds, alright?"

He ignores Guanheng's and Yangyang's chants of "Hell yeah, coach!", pointing at Jeno with his pen. "If your hand so much as twitches, I'm dragging you off court. Do you hear me? Say _yes, coach._ "

"Yes, coach," Jeno sighs.

"Good. Now, the lineup as I discussed with Renjun," Doyoung clears his throat. "For the first half: Renjun, Jeno, Mark, Guanheng, Yangyang, Donghyuck. In the second half, Dejun goes in for Renjun, Lucas for Jeno, Jaemin for Donghyuck. It's the usual, are we clear?"

Though they chant "Yes, coach!", Mark frowns. He expected Jaemin to go in the first half — he's been awfully quiet the entire day, standing at the back of the room with his perpetually bored face, and Mark can only hope that he's concentrating. Well, he's never seen Jaemin playing; Mark must admit that he's curious. He wishes he didn't have to wait until the second half to see it, and then realizes what he just thought and fights the urge to slap himself.

"I want you to give the best of yourselves tonight," Doyoung adds, snapping him out of his reverie. "These guys are tough but they are not unbeatable. You're a small team but you're not to be messed with. Give them hell, Foxes." 

"Yes, coach!"

The corridor that leads to the court is different from Palmetto's, stretching out long and narrow and Mark's stomach jumps when he first hears the sound coming from the crowd. His heart beats so loudly in his chest that he's sure Jeno will hear it from where he's standing in front of him on the line.

He doesn't really acknowledge it when he's announced into court — the whole world comes back to this buzzing crowd, all the yellow from Jackals fans and splashes of orange here and there. It's been so, so long since he's done this; Mark's longing aches inside him so much that he takes several long breaths once he's in position just to calm himself down. A few meters away from him, Jeno stares at the opposite players and ignores their teasing remarks. He is, in every sense of the thing, above all this. Every college team out there has recruited the best that there is from a pool of great high school level players, but Jeno is a _champion_ , and Mark wouldn't be fair to himself if he denied the thrill that is playing alongside him. It's the first time he'll be playing after his injury — it's one hell of a night.

He doesn't see it when Renjun serves, but hears it when Donghyuck's racket slams against the ball and they're all moving. The Jackals are a strong team and Mark's backliner mark is almost twice his size, but he's faster on his feet and it takes several minutes for his mark to body-check him for the first time when he gets possession of the ball; it's enough to send him flying to the floor, but Mark rolls back on his feet quickly, out of breath as he tries to make sense of where the ball is. He's buzzing with so much adrenaline that he doesn't even hurt.

As Mark suspected during practice time, Jeno's harsh criticism pushed the Foxes into a better shape than they were the year before, and the lineup for the first half also helps. It's harsh to get past the Jackals defense line but Jeno is skilled and Mark is stubborn, and the Foxes manage to score within the first fifteen minutes, a miracle. 

That rush doesn't last long — the first fight springs up when Jeno's backliner mark clashes his racket against his playing hand with so much force that he legs go of it, cradling the hand to his chest, and the referees aren't quick enough to give the backliner a red card before Mark pushes him to the floor, finger pointed at him in warning. They get a penalty for the foul but it feels bitter. Exy is, above all things, a violent game, but willingly choosing to break court rules to injure another player is simply past his ability of comprehension. 

"Which doesn't mean you can pick fights inside court," Guanheng tells him during halftime. His voice is muffled from holding a large piece of gauze to his nose. Helmets do a great job protecting players' faces, but a particularly aggressive Jackal had hit him from below just as the scoreboard flashed 4-2. "You're just a baby Fox, leave the dirty work to us."

"I'm older than you, so fuck off," Mark replies, peeling his gloves off. "Jeno's mark tried to hit his hand repeatedly, I had to do something. Also, I _saw_ who threw the first punch when Renjun was arguing with the other dealer. They have no class whatsoever."

"Neither do we."

Mark shrugs. "We're Foxes. No one expects us to be civil in the first place."

Renjun raises a hand for him to stop as he drinks his water, and then points at Mark with the bottle, though looking at Guanheng. "I told you he'd get worked up while playing. Fifty bucks on baby getting his first yellow card in the second half."

Looking up from his clipboard, Doyoung points a pen at him: "You're the captain, you're not supposed to bet on things like that. Shut your mouth and go fetch Jeno."

Renjun groans loudly before pushing himself to his feet. This locker room is bigger than theirs at the Foxhole Court, measured for bigger teams, and some of the Foxes have been jogging up and down the extent of it in preparation for the first half. Mark scans the room in search of Jeno but he must be with Irene still, so his eyes naturally fall to where Jaemin is sitting with his back pressed to a locker, chin propped up on his hand as he watches his teammates bickering with disinterest.

Getting up from his bench, Mark makes a beeline in his direction and crouches down by his side. "You're awfully quiet," he points out. "Are you going to stand there and let the Jackals score for free like you've done with us all summer?"

"Oh, I don't know yet," Jaemin hums, tapping his chin with a finger. "I'm not going to lie, it'd be so fun to see your sour face from across the court. You have no idea what you do for me every day."

Mark glares at him, though Jaemin only smiles cheerily in return. The rest of the Foxes might be at peace with the fact that he's a lost cause, but Mark can't fathom the idea of Jaemin putting himself through a sport he doesn't care about when he could simply quit and let them find another goalkeeper. "You have to at least try."

"I don't have to do anything, pretty."

The buzzer goes off, announcing they should be back in court in five. Mark watches as Jaemin slides in his gloves, picking his helmet from the floor. Once he's done gearing up, he leans into Mark's space until the grid of his helmet brushes against Mark's hair.

"You know, pretty, you and I both treasure asking instead of demanding for things," he says. "I'll consider it if you ask nicely next time."

🦊

"You have to do something. You're the only one that can."

"I can't force Jaemin to do anything."

When Mark doesn't move from the spot he's taken in front of the door, Jeno curls his fingers around his forearm in warning. 

"Move," he demands. "Go hang out with your little friends or do your homework, Mark. You must excel in something to make up for your astounding lack of Exy skills." 

It's been weeks since the Breckenridge Jackals won by 7 to 5, and Mark considers himself at fault — if he had nailed his last penalty shot, they'd have a chance. Slim, but a true chance; by the end of second half, all of them were exhausted, but Renjun was willing to push them through another fifteen minutes if it had come to a tie. But Mark, well—

"Are you done being mad at me?" he asks instead, batting Jeno's hand away. "Jaemin defended exactly three shots before he gave up, and Donghyuck was too tired to come back. The backliners and I played a full game while the Jackals replaced their entire lineup for the second half, Jeno. It was a completely different team. We were in shambles before we even began."

Jeno raises his eyebrows at him, and Mark sighs as he steps out of his way. He was waiting until Jeno came back from his morning classes, sitting on the corridor in front of his room's door because Mark knew he'd be unreachable once he stepped in.

"This strategy is shit," Mark tells him, leaning back on the wall when Jeno doesn't reach out for the doorknob. "I talked to Renjun _and_ coach already, but Doyoung takes your opinion into consideration because you're more experienced."

"And what do you suggest?"

"Get Jaemin to put some effort into it and put him on court during the first half. He's a better goalie than Donghyuck is but he doesn't care if the opposite team scores. If he manages to secure the goal while we focus on creating a gap between the points in the first half, we'll only have to maintain it during the second. We'll always be tired, so we have to work ourselves around the problem."

Jeno raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

"It makes no sense to beat ourselves up while other teams can replace their lineups entirely," Mark replies. "We're the smallest team in the district and everyone will use this against us. We should seize the moment we're energized enough to put up a fight and give them hell so they can't keep up later."

"I agree," Jeno nods, much to his surprise. "But I still can't get Jaemin to do anything if he doesn't want to. You try it and tell me if it works out."

When Mark doesn't say anything else, Jeno reaches out to open the door. Before he can close it behind himself, Mark pushes it open once more, stepping into the room. Jeno stares at him in disinterest before heading to his desk, throwing his bag at the feet of it, and Yangyang looks up from where he's curled up in one of the bean bag chairs, a notebook on his lap, and smiles at the sight of him.

"Where's Jaemin?" Mark asks in lieu of a greeting.

His expression deflatles. "Way to make a guy feel special, Mark Lee. Hello to you, too."

"Good evening, Yangyang, where's Jaemin?"

He points up to the ceiling. "Jaemin enjoys hanging out on the roof when the dorms are full, but I haven't seen him since morning," Yangyang replies, and then goes back to typing. "If you see my brother, tell him his mother called."

Mark nods: "Thank you and I will. See you both at practice later."

Though Yangyang waves at him, Jeno doesn't even look up from his school work. Mark lets out a long sigh before heading out of the room.

He's not surprised that Jaemin has let go of his usual spot by the window in the staircase, but Mark didn't expect him to find another hideout, and less alone one like the roof. They're not really supposed to go up there because no one else does, but when he reaches the pair of doors that lead upstairs and gives them a firm push, they fall open without resistance. All in all, it's not a surprise that Jaemin is fond of breaking dorm rules, and when Mark opens the second pair of doors at the end of the staircase, Jaemin looks back at him from where he's sitting by the edge of the roof.

He waits until Mark is within hearing distance, flashes him a smile and says: "Hey there, pretty thing. Took you some time to find my new hiding spot."

Mark ignores him, stopping a few centimeters from the edge so he could sit down. Though the Fox Tower isn't the tallest building around PSU, it's still a little disturbing to see Jaemin's legs dangling off the roof. When he catches him looking, Jaemin lets out a laugh:

"Don't worry about me too much. If I wanted to fall to my imminent death, I wouldn't make you watch it."

"That's not something you joke about," Mark replies. "Don't say such things to me. Or to anyone else."

Jaemin's bottom lip juts out as he pushes himself farther from the edge, sitting by Mark's side. "What did you come here for, pretty? Not to watch the view, I suppose."

He motions for the open space in front of them. The Foxhole Court is located on top of a hill, which means that there are no close buildings and that the campus stretches out under them. Most of the student body is heading to the two dining halls offered for them, but some are still enjoying their time under the sun on the large field of grass they call, well, the Green. They all look like ants from here, and if he were to look at his left side, he'd find the Foxhole Court at the distance. Mark wonders why Jaemin spends his time around here.

"Yangyang told me to tell you that your mother called."

Jaemin raises his eyebrows. "But you didn't come here to bear news from the Na family. It doesn't sound like you."

"We lost to the Jackals," he replies. "We cannot lose another game, or else we'll be eliminated from the season."

"It wouldn't be a first time for the Foxes," Jaemin hums. "Oh! It would be a first time for Jeno. How fun. He doesn't know how to lose."

Mark can't stress just how much Jeno doesn't know how to lose, but he's not here to defend his honor. "You're a great goalkeeper," Mark tells him, to which Jaemin brings his hands to his chest in one exaggerated motion, as if he's flattered. "I don't know how you can be good if you won't practice with us, but you are. If you play with us for an entire game instead of just standing there, we might have a spot on the spring championship."

Jaemin shakes his head negatively, clicking his tongue. "I'm not the Foxes' hidden weapon, pretty. Don't make me your salvation, you're setting yourself up for disappointment."

"Maybe I am. But I'd still like you to try."

"Why?"

"Because this is important to some of us," he responds matter-of-factly. Jaemin makes a mocking face at him. "Don't give that shit. Everyone's putting an effort into not being the country's laughingstock, so why can't you? We might have a chance this year."

"You're starting to sound like Renjun. I don't like either of your idealistic daydreams."

Jaemin pats the pockets of his track pants and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, then sets it on the space between them. Mark eyes the pack and then looks back at him, wondering why Jaemin hasn't given in to his vice yet.

"You think this is pointless," Mark says. "Why?"

"Because it is. All the practice in the world won't stop us from being mauled by Blackwell."

Mark raises his eyebrows — he didn't expect Jaemin to care at all about the tournament bracket, less alone remember who they're playing against next if he barely showed up to practice. It must be a side effect of having Jeno as a roommate. He clears his throat: "I beg to differ."

"Of course you do, pretty."

"Blackwell doesn't even have a good defense line, I've seen them on Youtube. We have a shot if you help us out."

"Once again, you're setting yourself up for disappointment."

"If you don't care at all, why are you even here? Why don't you quit?"

Jaemin shrugs. "Ain't got anything better to do." 

Mark nods. This is going to be way more difficult than he initially had thought. If Jeno couldn't get him to take it seriously, why would he, of all people? But before Mark can say anything else, Jaemin looks back at him: 

"Do you know why I play Exy?" Mark shakes his head negatively. "When I was fifteen, my mother enrolled into the foster care program. When Yang came into picture, he had a really hard time adjusting to us, I suppose. My mom really wanted him to feel at home, so she asked me to find something we could do together, you know, as bonding time. He was—" Jaemin lets out a laugh. "He was _obsessed_ with Exy. There was a poster of Jeno's mom in his room, for God's sake. But he had never played it and neither had I, but I signed us both for an audition to our school's team."

Mark can't help but smile at Jaemin's fond expression. He pictures a fifteen year old going out of his way to make someone else feel included — admittedly, it isn't something his mind could come up with on its own. And he must've looked really stupid staring at Jaemin like that, because the latter raises an eyebrow at him. Mark wipes the smile off his face immediately and looks away.

"We had practice every week, and it really made Yangyang happy, he looked forward to playing with me," Jaemin clears his throat. "Well, mom wanted _all_ of us to play, but our sister liked soccer better. So at the end of high school, when Doyoung came knocking at our door with all of his Foxes shit, I knew what I had to do."

"But he only wanted you," Mark points out.

"He said he wasn't looking for another dealer. I said I wouldn't go anywhere without my brother, and he agreed to sign him up if he played as a backliner."

Mark nods. "Fair enough. But if you've come so far for him, why don't you put an effort into it? If we won things, I bet Yangyang would be out of this world happy."

Jaemin looks at him with a funny expression. He fiddles with his pack of cigarettes but doesn't take one out, instead, he fishes a pink lighter out of it. "Oh, I'm not here to make Yangyang happy, pretty," he replies. "I'm here because I want him to be happy on his own. He has friends, he's doing what he loves, he's getting there. I play because I don't have anything better to do." 

Then, he leans in and drops his lighter to Mark's lap. "And because it'd be really boring not to see your cute little face every day. And since it comes back to motivation, I'm trying to quit, would you mind keeping this for me?"

Mark looks down at the lighter. He's pretty sure that this isn't enough to keep Jaemin from smoking, but he still picks the lighter up and pockets it.

"If it comes back to motivation," he says in a spur of courage. "What can I do in exchange for you to play for real?"

Jaemin tilts his head to the side as he pulls his knees to his chest, arms encircling his legs. "I don't know whether you think that _I_ am a freak or if _you_ are the freaky one in question. You're a very difficult book to read, pretty, did you know that?"

"What? I don't— I didn't—" Mark scoffs, crossing his arms. "I didn't mean it like _that_ , Jaemin."

The latter lets out a laugh. "Yeah, I know. It's just that riling you up is my newfound favorite hobby."

Mark scoffs once more: "You can't rile me—"

"Oh, I can, and I will. And as for your question, you can tell me something about yourself."

He frowns. Jaemin smiles cheerily: "For every truth that you tell me, I will defend a shot. Does that sound like a good deal?"

"You sound insane," Mark replies. "That's ridiculous."

The corners of Jaemin's mouth tug downwards. "Bad deal, then. Seems like the Foxes will be thrown out of the season before they even began."

Mark sighs, looking away from him and to the campus spreading below them. He's so— he's so infuriating. Mark doesn't know what to do with himself. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"The same thing as you: why do you play Exy?"

"Because I love it."

"Why do you love it?"

" _Because_. I don't like this game."

"You don't like it because you're bad at sharing things," Jaemin hums, resting his chin on his knee. "One truth, Mark Lee. Just one, it can't hurt that much. What is Exy to you?"

Exy is _everything_. His love for it is the memory of his mother and the thrill of scoring, it is what it feels like to hold a racket or the smell of new gear, it is thunderous crowds and outrunning rival players, it is stepping into court first in the morning and a sigh of relief after the final buzzer when you know you did your best. It is the way his body gets sore but his chest never gets heavy, couldn't get heavy when he harbors a love this big. His love for this doesn't keep him grounded, it makes him soar.

He looks back at Jaemin. "It is the one thing that I feel like it's truly mine."

Though he doesn't expect him to understand, a smile slowly stretches out in Jaemin's lips. For once, Mark doesn't feel compelled to look away.

🦊

Mark didn't think that simply asking Jaemin would change things — he thought he'd at least put on a bigger fight. It comes back to the fact that Jaemin is unpredictable. The following afternoon practices at Foxhole Court are graced with him casually defending from time to time, but only when he deemed the player interesting enough — Jeno was alright, Mark had to count with luck and Renjun, as the offensive dealer who could sometimes play as a striker if needed, still has yet to prove himself worthy, but he doesn't look that bothered.

"Listen," Renjun says as he taps him on the shoulder, and then again more insistently. "Look at me, yes, thank you. I don't know what you did, but you did great. I was surprised he even showed up. But since we're talking, what the hell did you do?"

Mark nods, but his eyes go back to where Lucas, Jeno and Dejun are scrimmaging against the backliners. "I asked."

"You asked," the captain echoes. He lets out a laugh, pushing his hair back with a hand — it used to have purple highlights, but now it's just blonde. Mark wonders what color he'll be pulling off next. "Yeah, right. C'mon, I was the one who told you he needs motivation. What did you promise him? Money? If he asked for money, he doesn't need it, he's got it."

Since Mark still thinks their agreement is incredibly silly, he repeats: "I asked."

Renjun lets out a sigh in defeat before he pushes him forward to do some laps. They go over the extension of the inner court a few times before Donghyuck joins them, trotting behind Renjun and trying to make him trip countless times before Doyoung yells that neither of them is allowed to injure the team's captain. 

The two of them do most of the talking, but Donghyuck has learned all the tricks needed to get Mark to speak already — he knows Mark couldn't care less about the topics Donghyuck likes the most, respectively girls, games and gossip, but he knows his way around it. "That makes no sense," Mark responds when Donghyuck claims that he'd save Johnny in a potential zombie apocalypse. "He's just a therapist. What help would he be? He'd analyze the undead."

"Johnny is a great person," Donghyuck argues while Renjun laughs. "I'd take him over Jeno, for example. What would _Jeno_ do? Criticize the way the undead run? _Oh, on your left, zombie. You'll never make it to Court in this shape._ Please. Plus he's a moron, he'd be the first to die."

Mark can't help it when he laughs — Donghyuck is ridiculous. When they pass near the others, he takes a look at the way Jaemin defends Lucas' shot as if he simply knew where he was going to aim. "What about Irene?"

"I'd take Irene," Renjun adds. "She's a doctor. She can be very useful."

"I don't think she'd let you kill the undead," Mark points out. "She's too nice. She takes care of people too much."

Donghyuck pushes him to the side and he almost trips, Mark sends him a glare. 

"I think Mark is allergic to being taken care of," he tells Renjun. "A _classic_ Fox, if you ask me. You owe me, like, a hundred bucks now. It's piling up, Jun."

As Renjun groans and they all come to a stop near the door closest to the locker room, Mark frowns. He takes a deep breath, tired of the laps, and asks: "You bet on me?"

"I bet on you disliking Johnny," Donghyuck lets out a sigh, wiping off the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. "Irene is a bonus. Renjun was more optimistic."

"Yeah, _thank you_ , Mark. At least we have, like, twenty other bets going on. I can still gain my money back."

Mark nods as he hits the button to open the court's door. The Foxes are notorious and compulsive gamblers; they bet on anything and everything, from final scores to who's going to show up to practice first, things like that. The last Mark's heard, they've been betting on whether Yangyang would succeed in asking out a Vixen — he didn't understand why the topic was so funny for them. He's seen Yoorim before and she seems lovely. Once again, Mark was reminded that the Foxes existed before him, and they've got their own fight stories to tell. He doesn't want to pry.

"Well, eighteen that Mark can still bet on," Renjun adds once they're inside the locker room, pulling their designated water bottles from inside a minibar that was pushed to the wall closest to the door. 

"What do you mean?"

To which Donghyuck replies: "You can't bet on yourself, dumbass, that's cheating."

Mark raises his eyebrows, gulping down half of his water before asking: "So? Are you not going to tell me what else you're betting about me? I think I have the right to know."

Renjun and Donghyuck share a look — they have this thing, the two of them, that it looks like one can know what the other is thinking with a single look. It's both endearing and terrifying at the same time. They turn to Mark with identical incredulous smiles: "You obviously don't have the right to know."

Fair enough. Mark drinks the rest of his water and shrugs off his shirt, thanking heavens for the existence of AC, and sits with his back pressed to his locker, listening to the other's chit chat. 

He must have dozed off at some point, because he wakes up with a startle as someone nudges him on the leg. Mark looks up at Dejun, who's staring down at him with his gear still on.

"Hello," he says. "You shouldn't rely on the others to wake you up when practice is over. They won't, trust me."

Frowning, Mark pushes himself off the ground. The locker room is mostly empty, with only a few bags thrown at the floor and the faint sound of the showers running. "What great team spirit," he comments, to which Dejun giggles as he starts unbuckling his gloves. He seems to be struggling a bit after today's practice, so Mark helps him dismantle his shoulder pads and chest armor.

"Thanks," the other replies. "You should shower. Lucas can give you a ride back to the dorms."

Nodding, Mark walks back to his locker to pick up a towel and heads to the bathroom. He feels gross, disgustingly so, and just can't wait to have dinner and drag himself to bed for a couple hours before Jeno fetches him for their late night practice. 

As he's stepping onto one of the shower stalls — courtesy from Doyoung; back in Arizona, there weren't any stalls in the showers —, Jaemin steps out of another. Mark averts his eyes immediately, but Jaemin still wolf whistles at him. "See something you like, pretty?"

"Fuck off," Mark tells him. Jaemin doesn't bother replying, giggling to himself as he leaves.

🦊

In early September, the Foxes manage to go through another game and earn their first win of the season, and then survive another break in. Though Mark is over the moon that they managed to beat Blackwell University with his strategy, he's far more concerned as to the way his teammates react to finding the Foxhole Court vandalized. 

"This is _not_ normal," Mark repeats as he points to the inner court. He's crushed to see it covered in paint, mud and other things he doesn't want to find out. The cops wouldn't let them into court anyway, too busy filing the report. When he called Renjun, the only thing he replied was: _will it take too long to repair? We have to practice._

"No one said it was normal, dude," Donghyuck replies in a sigh from where he's sitting in one of the orange seats, knees pulled to his chest and arms around his legs. "It's just the way it is. Talk shit about the Ravens, get hit by Raven fans."

Mark shakes his head in disbelief. "We didn't _talk_ shit. The press talks shit, we only respond on the same level."

Donghyuck doesn't reply — it's the middle of the night. The cops are almost done interrogating the janitors and Doyoung paces restlessly inside the foyer, Mark can hear him speaking on the phone in a loud tone, and Donghyuck looks exhausted in his sleep shirt and neon green pyjama pants. 

The others were here, too, because the cops wanted to talk to them, but they weren't in the vicinity when it happened so they were released earlier — Renjun wanted to cheer for their victory as a whole, as a team, and Yangyang suggested a nightclub that they liked back in Columbia. Mark didn't tag along because he didn't like clubbing, and Donghyuck didn't tag along because it was either him or Jaemin, and Yangyang _really_ wanted to party. He doesn't go anywhere without his brother.

Mark is going to figure them out some day. He doesn't know why he cares but he will. But as of right now, he lets himself fall to the seat by Donghyuck's side and buries his hands in his hair, still messed up from sleep.

"I hate Jeno," Donghyuck tells him. "Like, not really. He's weird but he's not awful, I'm sure we could be friends. But he was the worst thing that has ever happened to this team."

"I—"

"I know you beg to differ. I didn't ask for your opinion," Donghyuck sighs. "I was happy that we won— I _am_ happy that we won. But one day one of those freaks he called friends are going to put one of our heads in a stick. We are not meant to leave rock bottom. They're letting us know. We should just give up."

Mark doesn't reply immediately. He knows Ravens fans are vicious and their idols more even so inside court, but he refuses to believe that either of them approves of this. He hopes they don't. Jeno doesn't. But he wonders, if it was the opposite, if Jeno wasn't here, if he'd give a fuck if his fans thrashed another team's stadium out of pettiness.

"Bullshit," he says at last. "I know damn well you want us to thrive, Donghyuck."

"Of course I do. But at what cost?" the goalie shrugs. "I'm tired. I'm really so fucking tired, Mark."

Mark knows he's not talking about the late hours. He doesn't understand what's Donghyuck's deal yet — for someone who's extremely energetic and famous for not backing away from a fight, he's weirdly wary of confrontation. Maybe he only enjoys lashing out at the same people who will pick up his pieces after; maybe he needs a crutch, a certainty or something. Mark doesn't know what to give him just yet. 

"Jeno is—" he starts, and Donghyuck lets out a sigh, but Mark nudges him on the ribs. "Jeno is going to take us places. He's the most experienced player we have."

"Yeah, when it comes to Exy and mommy issues both, which sort of cancel it all out when it comes to us Foxes," Donghyuck mumbles, letting out a yawn. "Do you think they're done?"

"The pigs?"

Donghyuck nods. Mark shrugs. "I don't want to go and ask."

"Me neither."

Resting his feet on top of the seat in front of him, Mark lets out a long sigh and looks up at the stadium's ceiling. They have yet to play a game at the Foxhole Court — all of their games have been away so far —, and he just can't wait to see all of this being brought to life. Lucas has told him that game nights are always fun, seeing the entire university in their colors, listening to the team's band and all, but Mark wants this: the stadium coming alive, and the Foxes kicking ass inside it. Only that will be able to pull that sight from his mind once and for all — he hopes he never sees the Foxhole Court being treated so poorly like this again.

After a while, Doyoung walks up to them, pulling at Donghyuck's hair to wake him up from his accidental nap. "When are the others coming back?"

Donghyuck lets out a sneer: "Not tonight. They'll probably crash at Jaemin's place in Columbia."

"Better than driving home drunk," Doyoung sighs, rubbing his temple with the tip of his fingers. "You're free to go. I'll have someone clean everything up tomorrow morning."

The ride back to the dorms is silent — Mark drives, obviously, because Donghyuck can barely stand. It's been a while since he's done it but with a nice car like this, it can't be difficult. It's only when they're standing in the elevator to the fourth floor that Donghyuck speaks up, his voice coated with sleep.

"I'm going to snitch on a bet," he announces. "But that's because I don't want to lose and you will help me out."

Mark doesn't reply. Donghyuck lets out an exaggerated sigh: "God, would it kill you to give me a reaction? Can you nod? Yes, thanks. Listen, everyone is betting on Jaemin inviting you to the banquet. Say no and save me, like, a huge amount of money. I'll treat you to dinner if I win this one."

As the doors to their floor open and they step out, Mark shakes his head: "I have no idea what you're talking about. What banquet?"

Donghyuck looks at him in disbelief as he tries to unlock the door. Suddenly, he's not sleepy anymore. "Are you kidding?" he asks. "God, you're actually so dense. The kickoff banquet, asshole. What banquet—" he scoffs.

Right. The banquet. The kickoff banquet at the beginning of game season. It's not a surprise that Mark has forgotten about it, but he resents that Donghyuck reminded him of it. The banquet itself is, well, a bore. He's only been to one and it was okay-ish, but older players back in Arizona would tell him all about it and he couldn't help but wonder why people kept up with it for so long.

He can't believe he'll have to endure that completely alone. The year before, he and Mina went together. She could've gone with Somi but didn't, and snuck in sweets and appetizers inside her wallet purse so they could eat it while watching a movie back at their dorms. Things were simpler, he thinks, when he was with the Scorpions. Things were simpler when Mina was there, but he hasn't called her in three weeks and is now too ashamed to reach out.

His chest feels heavy all of a sudden — he goes into the bathroom to wash his face and Donghyuck follows him.

"Hello, are you not going to say anything? I'll literally share the money with you. Just say no to Jaemin."

"Why on Earth would Jaemin even ask me to go with him?"

He clearly has better options. Jaemin might be a psychotic weirdo, but the campus is so big; surely there's someone out there who can put up with his lunatic tendencies. Mark tries to wipe his face dry with a hand towel but Donghyuck snatches it away from his hold obnoxiously.

"Because..." he replies, taking a deep breath. "I'm going to kill myself because you made me say this. Let's say, Jaemin is kind of vocal when it comes to his interest in you. It's what everyone talks about. He's ready to—" Donghyuck fake gags. "—eat you up."

"He's not interested in me," Mark tells him. God, Donghyuck is so stupid. "He's just fucking around. And even if he did ask me, I would not go with him."

Donghyuck smiles: "So you'll say no! Now, do you like seafood? I know a place—"

"He's not going to ask, Donghyuck."

"Well, so who will _you_ take then?" he leans in, dropping the towel in Mark's hand. "That's also a bet. Please, don't tell them I told you about it. They won't let me take part in other bets."

Mark considers it for a moment, and then replies: "No one," after a second thought, he adds: "I could take you. Would you win the bet like that?"

"That's tempting, but I have a hot girlfriend and would choose her over your scrawny ass any time," Donghyuck replies. He steps out of the threshold to let Mark out of the bathroom and follows him inside their shared room. "No offense, of course. I'm totally an ally."

Mark stares. Donghyuck widens his eyes: "What, you're straight?! Dude, that's _another_ bet. God, no, you can't let Renjun win. He's going to give me so much shit."

"That's none of your business," he responds, pulling the sheets off his bed so he can slide inside. "You guys are kind of weird for betting on things like that."

"It's tradition, Mark Lee. You just happen to be the center of attention now. It'll last for a few months, so get used to it."

Mark stops replying, turning around to face the wall, and eventually Donghyuck retreats to his own bed. He stays silent for a long time until he's sure that the goalie has fallen asleep, and then rolls on his back to stare at the ceiling. He's not really annoyed that the Foxes have betted on him so many times, it doesn't matter in the end, but he keeps thinking of Donghyuck's words. 

Sighing to himself, Mark turns on his side once more, and this time he stares at Donghyuck's silhouette in the dark. The thing about Jaemin is— it's ridiculous. He's a pain and he embarrasses Mark most of the time with his antics, and he's almost a hundred percent sure that Jaemin treats everyone else like that. He's heard him flirting with Lucas on court even though Lucas' boyfriend was _right there_ ; he's just like that. It's harmless, which is why Mark doesn't mind at all.

What a silly thing, he thinks, to think about men late at night at this point in his life. And to think _Donghyuck_ , of all people, started it— God. Mark has really hit rock bottom. He buries his face on the pillow and waits for sleep to collect him before it gets worse.

🦊

Eventually and after much insistence, Mark lets Donghyuck take him shopping to find something nicer to wear at the kickoff banquet, when it becomes obvious that he cannot postpone it any further. The Foxes have morning practice at the court on Saturdays rather than evening schedules, so Donghyuck grabs him by the ear before he can stay to practice with Jeno and drags him to his car. 

Renjun tags along, which is new — admittedly, Mark doesn't hang out with either of the two a lot. Though they're roommates, Donghyuck spends most of his free time with his girlfriend, who Mark has yet to meet, and Renjun is still a mystery for him. The captain is rather reserved — Mark doesn't see him around campus as often as his other teammates. Their conversations are mostly about Exy, but it's all Mark ever wants to talk about anyway; when he slides into the backseat, Renjun greets him with a bright smile from the passenger seat.

"Found yourself a plus one yet?" he asks, and Mark sighs: 

"I'm not taking anyone."

"Because he's an idiot," Donghyuck adds. "Three Vixens asked me for his number. Three! One guy, two girls. He could handpick a date, but Mark has a thing for making my life difficult."

"It's not that difficult when you choose to literally be obsessed with me," he argues as Renjun chuckles. "You set yourself up for disappointment."

Donghyuck scowls at him through the rearview mirror. "Jesus fuck, you sound like Jaemin. Get out of my car."

Mark, for one, wishes he could, but they're already on a highway and he can't give himself the luxury of getting hurt before their next match. He pulls his phone out and searches for upcoming matches; two days before, the USC Trojans smashed the Belmonte Terrapins in their own home, which means they'll be facing Penn State at some point soon and Mark can't wait to see it. Though the Ravens are, traditionally, the best team in the country, USC and Penn State are constantly trying to one-up each other for second place. He marks the date in his phone's calendar and pockets it in time to catch Renjun and Donghyuck arguing about the banquet still.

"I don't think going alone is a problem," Renjun argues. "I'm going alone, too. A lot of people will do too."

Donghyuck sneers: "But that's because you're dying to see that Trojans striker. Sleeping with the enemy much?"

"I am not..." Renjun sighs, giving Mark an exasperated look before slapping the back of Donghyuck's head. "You make it sound like I'm a caveman. We're getting to know each other."

"Yeah, in bed. Or dirty bathrooms."

" _Donghyuck._ "

"Jun, it's fine. We're all busy players here, I get it that you're trying to make the most of your time together. Right, Mark?"

Mark doesn't reply. Donghyuck sighs as they stop at a red light, turning to Renjun: "Mark doesn't swing any way so he wouldn't know."

"I never said that," he replies. "Just because I'm not crazy about dating it doesn't mean that I'm not interested in—" when Donghyuck raises eyebrows at him through the rearview mirror, he adds in a sigh: "Men. It just means it's not on top of my priorities right now."

"No, you're totally right, I'm sorry," Donghyuck nods, though he almost crashes against a lamp post, giggling to himself. Mark pinches the bridge of his nose as he thinks of having Donghyuck winning that stupid bet.

He'd been thinking about it — statistically speaking, it'd be naive to say all Exy players are straight. Or cis, for that matter; it's a co-ed and diverse sport, it's what it was always supposed to be in the first place. Mark has never felt threatened in Class I Exy, but he knows for a fact that more conservative major league teams are less likely to sign openly queer people due to fear of backlash. It's bullshit, and it will forever be bullshit, but that's also why many players prefer to stay under the radar rather than publicly come out. 

Mark, for one, is simply not crazy about letting people give him more bullshit than they already do — there are braver ones out there. The Foxes themselves, for example. He'll be supporting them backstage until the right time comes around.

It doesn't take long for him to find something for himself, but as Donghyuck tries out his tenth outfit, Mark sits down on a bench in the store and watches as the goalie keeps asking Renjun to bring him other sizes of shirts. By the time they're paying, Mark's inbox is full of messages from Jeno asking why he isn't at practice, and Mark kindly ignores him and asks the other two if they want to get some ice cream before they leave.

In a spur of courage, Mark nudges Renjun on the ribs as they leave the ice cream parlor, Donghyuck a few steps behind talking to his girlfriend on the phone: "So, Trojans, huh?"

Renjun's cheeks blush pink like his ice cream: "It's nothing serious," he replies, and then adds in a low tone: "I kind of wish it was, though. I'm just waiting to see where this will take me."

Mark hums to let him know he's listening. The captain tells him very, very briefly about having met the number 8 for the USC Trojans, Minghao, a couple years before when Renjun considered signing with them. As stoked as he is to find out that Renjun could've made it to a Big Three team and still decided to sign with PSU, Donghyuck's eternal teasing about their not-a-relationship grants him radio silence on the matter before Mark can ask him more about it; they'll have to go back to this conversation later.

The ride back to the dorms is filled with yet another discussion about apocalyptic scenarios — it seems to him that Donghyuck and Renjun's favorite hobby is debating against each other on anything. Mark had known already that they are in sync with most of the things they do. They're two peas in a pod, two halves of the same heart. He feels bad for intruding most of the time but neither of them think of him as an outsider, they're happy to invite him along; he thinks of Donghyuck taking him for breakfast and Renjun inviting him to deal with the media alongside him after every game. More than that, he thinks of every time the Foxes — and even Jeno — have gone out of their way to make him feel included. Mark is still not good at the friendship thing, but for once he thinks he's managing.

Once they're taking the elevator to their floor, Mark absentmindedly pats his pockets in search of his keys and finds Jaemin's lighter instead. It comes back to the elephant in the room. He takes the lighter out and wonders why he hasn't thrown that inside one of his drawers yet, and wonders if Jaemin really did quit smoking or if he's just fucking with him. As Donghyuck blabbers about a movie he's seen last week, Renjun looks back at him and at the lighter in his hand. He smiles at Mark like he knows, but Mark just pockets it and trails after Donghyuck off the elevator. 

They end up in Renjun's room, and Guanheng wakes up from his nap on the couch to make space for them. He's still pretty much asleep as he pulls Mark's bag to his lap and takes a look at what he's bought, but once Donghyuck grabs a few beers from the minibar, he's back to his usual bubbly self.

"I'm _so_ excited for the banquet," he tells Mark. "It's so nice to meet everyone else outside a game, don't you think?"

Mark doesn't think so, but for Guanheng's sake, nods accordingly. What started as a brief get-together soon enough turns into an excuse to order lunch to the dorms, and Lucas and Dejun eventually join them after a quick phone call. He thinks, as they chat and drink and eat and listen to Donghyuck being his extra self, that this is it; this is as good as life gets. But when Mark helps Lucas take out the trash out of the room, his eyes naturally wander to Jaemin's door — Mark knows the Foxes have a long way to go in order to become a real team. 

It's way more than being able to play together. He doesn't think Renjun's idealism is bad; he thinks it's hopeful. They're fractured but they're trying their best; Mark wonders if it's just a matter of reaching out to the most jagged parts of this team. On his way back to the room, he slides a hand into his pocket and lets his fingers curl around Jaemin's lighter for a brief moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case anyone needs me i will be on twitter (@xiaogender or @akieslos) talking about writing part 2. mwah


End file.
